Travellers in the Dark
by Whatsmyhaircolor
Summary: Amongst the ruins of New Orleans, three groups of survivors pursue three different paths through an undead nightmare. Yet unbeknownst to each of them, their fates are interwoven. One wishes the demise of the other two, one harbors a powerful young girl, and the other is struggling to save their kind from the darkness of extinction. Can any of them survive the coming storm?
1. Chapter 1

It was such a pity. A beautiful creature plucked from the world of the living too soon (as far as she was concerned. Its eyes were open, pupils fixed on a distant focus that did not exist. Their gaze was that of death into eternity. Yet if it were not for the eyes, it would seem as though it had fallen asleep in the grass.

"Misty, you alright?" Her solemn reflection was interrupted by this call. She had become so entranced in the corpse that her first reaction was not a reply, but startle. Quickly she was able to regain her senses, and focus on who had called her. "What?" she scoffed at her clueless reply. "Oh, I'm fine. I just hate seeing such a waste of life." Stiles was shortly by her side, crouching beside her. She pointed at the fragile form in the grass. "I love those birds." Misty continued. "I have no idea what they're called, but they make the coolest chirps. I remember hearing them all the time during the summer." Misty was an odd one, Stiles was aware of this. Perhaps odd was too harsh. She had a profound respect for nature, so much so that she would refuse to see the animals the group had killed before they were fully cooked; being a vegetarian was too dangerous these days. In truth, Stiles often imagined her sitting in a circle of people wearing tie-dye shirts and singing about the Earth. But she was visibly upset right now, and he felt the need to comfort her. "Maybe it died naturally?" "No, it had a broken wing. You can't tell now, but when I found it the wing looked like a lightning bolt." "I have no idea what they're called either," said Stiles, "But you're right about the chirps." Misty' expression of melancholy shifted to allow a glimmer of happiness through.

"Guys?" Scott was calling, from their camp based on his volume. "What're you doing over there?" "Having a memorial service for the bird." Stiles shouted in reply. Misty smiled, and laughed. There was no reply from Scott. Instead, he jogged over to them. When he saw the bird, he looked surprised, perhaps expecting a truth different from what Stiles had replied. "Um, alright then." he began. "Well, we need to get moving. That herd from New Orleans is on the move again." "Already?" asked Stiles. "Dammit. Let's go Misty." "Alright, I'll pack my bag." she replied. "You go on ahead to the camp." "You sure?" She nodded, her eyes shifting to the bird. "Alright," Stiles continued, "But stay alert."

Misty waited for Scott and Stiles to be out of sight. She held the bird in her arms, its light corpse stiff in death. "Let's see what I can do." She placed her left hand over the bird and closed her eyes. The veins in her hand pulsed, and a soft breath escaped her lips. The bird suddenly flapped its wings, and it sat in her palm. "Beautiful." She raised her hand, and the bird flew away, chirping as though it had never been able to its entire life. Nature's melody was soothing and beautiful. There was a pounding on her head. "Light-headed though. Shit, I've gotta practice more." "Misty?" The call stung, her head swimming from her act of resurrection. "Coming," she replied, "Just had to burry the little guy." She looked up at the bird dancing in the air before she left the scene.

The walk back to their camp was a brief one, and upon her arrival most of their gear had already been loaded onto Stiles' jeep and the flatbed. Allison and Scott were assisting each other with their payloads, Lydia was packing their telescopes, and Stiles was sealing their food supplies. He stopped to approach her. "I know you're upset," he said to her, "But, there'll be more birds. Don't let that one keep you down." "Thanks Stiles," she replied, "But don't worry. I needed, closure, and I got it." "Well then get back to packing," Lydia called, "We need to leave within the next five minutes." A low, barely audible roar echoed in the air. It vibrated gently in their ears, but it carried the call of death. "Make that three," said Lydia, "I forgot that the gates a few blocks away were torn down. They're advancing."

The group left in two minutes, every ounce of valuable food and equipment loaded onto their vehicles. Scott and Allison took the flatbed, while Stiles rode with Lydia and Misty. The herd would arrive five minutes later, sniffing the ground the once stood on in a futile attempt to track their prey. Already the roar of the car tires was too distant for their decayed ears. In a rare event the herd disbanded, the walkers roaming aimlessly out of and back inside the city.

"There they go." Her eyes peered through the binoculars, watching the small convoy travel down the road. "Don't even know they have a witch with them." "What're you going to do ma'am?" She chuckled, setting her tool down and turning to her companion. "We, mon cher, are going to do what I've been planning. We're going to kill her, and them if necessary, and then I'm going to move on with my life." "You're sure she's the last one?" "That school was a couple blocks away from the worst of it. They're dead or worse. We finish her, and I'll also free you, Mr. Werewolf." "I don't feel anything about that." "No you wouldn't, I made sure of that. You also won't remember a lick of what happened while you were under my control." "Whatever you say Ms. LaVeau." Marie peered once more through the binoculars, the cars fading into the distance. "We should get moving," she began, "Don't want to have too much distance between them and us, especially with these walkers everywhere."

"Nan," said Cordelia, "Could you get away from the window? It's not safe." Nan allowed the curtains to fall over the barded and boarded glass screen. "I want to see if I can hear anyone." Madison's cold laughter echoed in the main room. "You really think anything will change?" she asked. "We haven't seen another person in months, why would one come now?" "Girl, we heard the tires this morning," Queenie interrupted, "Give Nan a break." "It's not like they're coming here to stay." Madison barked. "It was probably some survivors who thought, 'Hey, maybe New Orleans has some supplies,' and drove the hell away when they saw the hordes of monsters."

"Enough arguing," Myrtle interjected, "This negativity is not necessary, the world has plenty of that to provide for us." "Let's all just calm down," said Cordelia, "We have more important matters to attend to. Queenie, you and I are up for today's supply run. How is your telekinesis coming?" Queenie raised her hand, and Cordelia quickly ascended into the air, nearly contacting the ceiling. "Pretty good," Queenie joked, "And I can also control my pyrokinesis better." "I suppose you can flex those mental muscles," said Cordelia as she was lowered to the floor, "But only if necessary. The French Quarter isn't a pile of ash because of the apocalypse." "I said I was sorry."


	2. Chapter 2

"Where are we again?" Misty asked as she unfolded their weathered and torn map. "I know we're not in Kenner anymore." "No, we just left it," Lydia replied, "We're on Interstate 10. There's Bayou Piquant on our right." "We'll be at the park in a couple of minutes." said Stiles. "Wetland Watchers?" Misty interrupted. "Aren't we on the wrong road then? The map says we'll pretty much pass right over it." It was the little things like this that bothered Stiles. There were certain events, ones that were well covered by the news and radio before they both died out, which everyone knew about. So many of them Misty seemed unaware of. She certainly gave off the vibe of a hippie chick, the one you'd expect to find sleeping next to alligators in the swamp, but she was by no means alienated by the modern world. Maybe she was a druggie? But if she was, surely she'd be going through withdrawals? Unless it was something simple, like pot. A question for another time. "The interstate collapsed," he replied, "Way near the beginning." "Oh," she sheepishly replied, "Oh, yeah, that's right. I guess I forgot." Not with the way the news was covering it she couldn't.

She was right though, Stiles thought, about the highway essentially running over the park. Fortunately this concrete path fell into a declined ramp to allow access, with vehicular corpses resting at the bottom. This alternate route cut out a good chunk of drive time and an unnecessary risk in exposing themselves to the undead. However, if the herd from New Orleans did follow them to the park, they could attach their plow to the flatbed and surf through on a wave of gore.

In the days before New Orleans was completely abandoned by government forces, the park was used as an advance quarantine sight. Unfortunately, the undead couldn't be stopped by their rifles and tents, and the sight was abandoned without so much as a single pencil being taken. In short, it was a treasure trove, one they all desperately needed. MRE's, ammunition, medicine, sterile utensils, gas, the list went on.

"I take it that's why we're here?" asked Misty as she lowered her window. "That plastic ghost town?" Her description was a very accurate one. The dozen tents in the park had personality to match the force of four seasons' worth of storms and weather. Stiles stopped his jeep a few feet shy of the largest crack of the ramp. Lydia and Misty jumped out of the car, and Scott and Allison were soon beside them. Allison had her bow and arrows, Scott his sidearm. Stiles checked his own gun, the quiet clank of metal being overshadowed by the pump of Lydia's shotgun. Then there stood Misty, who drew her machete adorned with shells and feathers. Pretty.

"Don't look like anybody's here," she began, "Aside from that pile of human charcoal." The bodies of the infected were piled high outside the camp, blackened by the cleansing flames. Bad memories began to surface in Stiles' subconscious. He felt uncomfortable, sick even. "Let's get moving," he quickly commanded, "We don't want to give the walkers a chance to find us." "Walkers?" asked Lydia. "You're really pushing for that name, aren't you?" "Honestly I don't care what we call them," said Scott, "As long as they go down all the same. But 'walkers' is very convenient." "If you don't mind it being bland." Misty added.

The ramp was gradual enough for them to slide down without much difficulty or risk. There was some careful footwork at the bottom, stepping over the debris and corpses, which nature had already begun to reclaim. The bayou and swamp had hit the New Orleans area hard in the year since the first outbreak. The new mud sometimes held dangerous secrets.

Stiles took point. He never liked leading the charge, as he preferred to call it, but he forced himself to do it. It was a matter of clichéd chivalry with their female companions, and though he knew Scott could knock a walker down faster than he could, his asthma was a constant risk factor. So, all 147 pounds of him had to lead his friends into the ghost town. If only sarcasm could kill, then he could rack up more bodies than the rest of the group put together. Of course, Misty didn't help the tally. At least she was agile. Their feet swashed loudly in the ground. "Watch out for lurkers." he said softly. "We don't want to have to amputate anything."

The camp was quiet when they arrived. Giving the pile of burnt corpses a wide birth, they approached behind the main tent. The flimsy plastic was torn, revealing a rusted skeleton and indiscernible crates, hardware, and more. Stiles poked his head inside. As he did this he thought about how idiotic he was, to do something that could so easily lead to his death. Fortunately the tent was devoid of the infected, and for now was a secured location. Sticking close to its sides, they slid inside the front flap.

"Just because this tent is empty doesn't mean the others will be," said Allison, "And it doesn't rule out the possibility of lurkers being in the mud. We should group up." "We don't have time for that," said Misty, "There sun's dipping in the sky. Dark will come soon." "Which only reinforces my idea." Allison replied. "We don't want any of us being caught alone." "If I might interrupt this little cat scratch," said Stiles, "Misty's right. We have to get what we need and get off the ground before nightfall. I'll stay here with you and Scott. Misty, you and Lydia check out the buildings over there."

As Stiles predicted, Allison and Scott still paired up. He hoped that they didn't find an empty tent. Like Misty said, they didn't have much time. They began with the tent on their left, so he went right. The camp was a tight "c" shape, so if any trouble came their way help was a few seconds away. A few seconds. That's all it took. That's all it took every time. Fifteen seconds, he kept track of it, across the board reduced them from eleven to five. Whose three, two seconds would it be next that costs them their life?

"Well shit," said Lydia, "This place is a real nightmare." A yellow school bus was resting on its side, the paint chipped and faded, the bus wrapped in vegetation. Inside was a class of small corpses. The wheels were coated in a thick, dry layer of mud, and there were skid marks stretching from the bus to the ground at the edge of the highway. "So they flew off," said Misty, "And, skidded into the park?" "It must've happened when people were leaving the city," Lydia suggested, "When all the chaos was killing more people than the, walkers." "I don't wanna search the bus; can I go to the buildings over there?" "Sure thing, but you owe me. It's not like I'm going to enjoy this any more than you would."

"Any luck?" Scott peeled the lid off of another murky container. Again, it was useless, filled with nothing but decayed computer hardware. "None yet," replied Allison, "But since that's the fifth box that's had old computer parts in it, I think it's safe to say this isn't the tent for us." They looked up, at a sign barely clinging to life. "Computer supply tent," they read aloud, "Storage unit 2 of 2." Allison chuckled. "I love having these stupid moments," she said, "It's a nice alternative to, everything else." "I love sharing them with you." Scott wiped the sludge from his hands, a potential mood killer, and wrapped his hands around Allison's waist. "And speaking of sharing," he continued, "I think the others will be busy long enough." Allison turned around, her face inches from Scott's. "At least a half hour," she said, "If we can count on Stiles' meticulousness."

"Thirty boxes of water jugs," Stiles exclaimed, "I'll take my award now please! And I'm talking to myself." He stumbled upon a liquids tent, as he dubbed it. Not all of it was edible or, non-lethal. There were many boxes with faded warning labels on them, with the majority still be legible. The sign that was previously hanging overhead, it almost impaled him seconds ago, titled the tent as "Relief Supplies: Liquids." Relief has a wide range of meaning in this tent, but the water was labelled for consumption and was definitely cleaner than what they had been drinking. Stiles had an awkward memory of their great diarrhea fiasco, when contaminated water had them literally shitting themselves as they ran for their lives. He still laughed about it, before he squirmed in discomfort. As though the universe wanted to join in on the joke, the next box he stumbled upon was filled with Pepto-Bismol.

"This is all wrong." The inside of the main building revealed the aftermath of a terrible massacre. There were dead bodies scattered throughout, filled with bullet hole and piled atop each other. "All this death, all this horror. The world was bad enough without all of this." She saw a teddy bear cradled in the arms of one of the bodies. "Children," she continued, "They don't deserve this. They deserve life." She caught herself kneeling down. She pulled herself up; their bodies were too far gone, too rotten to save. The stench itself was enough to deter her from trying. She tied a flower beneath her nose and carefully stepped over the bodies.

"What'll I even find in here?" she wondered. "What could possibly be useful to us in here? This is just a big graveyard." She felt uneasy moving through the lobby, not simply because of it being a graveyard, but because many did not have bullet holes in their heads. If any had succumbed to the infection, they could rise up from anywhere. She kept her machete ready, carefully pointing it at every corpse lacking a cranial hole. Finally she cleared the massive pile of corpses, the dark, empty hallway before her being a preferable alternative. She checked her flashlight. The batteries were dead. "Shit, I knew I should've changed them last week." Disregarding her inconvenience, she carefully felt her way down the hall. It was very short, and lead only to a room at its end, one on its left, and one on its right. The darkness was interrupted by warm light pouring in from the room at the end of the hall. Not wanting to spend too much time with her limited vision, she rushed inside.

Fortunately there was no one, or thing, inside. The far wall had all but fallen over, the blood orange sun rays casting their glow inside. "Beautiful, just beautiful." The room was filled with empty cabinets and drawers, every one she pulled open being devoid of supplies or items of interest. "This is bullshit; someone else must've already been through here." Without looking, she threw the middle drawer of her current shelf aside. The loud thud didn't surprise her, but the plastic clank did. She turned around to see a handset radio. The plastic was damaged, but it was in too good of a condition to have been sitting in the drawer for a year. If people had been through here, which she assumed was obvious, this would be the last thing to be left behind. She picked it up, and started to fiddle with the knobs. Just as with 99% of all radios they tried to use, nothing but static was coming through. Suddenly though, like the other fraction of functioning radios, she heard something. A brief moment of chatter, a man's voice. "Hello?" she frantically asked. "Hello can you hear me?"

"Did you hear that?" Allison was struggling to clip the back of her bra together as Scott pulled his briefs up to his waist. "Shit!" Her fingers slipped, and her bra slid off her chest. "Could you clip me Scott?" "I think I prefer this." he said coyly. "At least for a few more minutes." She rolled her eyes and smiled, tossing her bra at his face. "And no," she snapped, "That's not me flirting back." She turned her back to him and parted her air. "I'm waiting." "Fine," Scott sighed, "I'll do it. I still think we could've lasted a little longer." "I told you it stinks in here, it was turning me off." "Yeah, yeah." "Why aren't I strapped yet?" "The hooks are all slippery. And, what did you mean?" "About?" "Hearing something." "It sounded like a scream." "Got it." Allison heard the clip of her bra, and she allowed her hair to flow down her back. "Thanks Scott. Let's get dressed and check it out."

The tent flap was violently torn aside. Stiles had a wild look on his face, which was quickly replaced by a stern expression of irritation. "Really?" he asked. "Is two weeks that long for you two?" "You kept track?" Allison asked in shock. "How could I not," he replied, "It was more of me remembering when I was about to round the corner when two pairs of underwear come flying out. Shit, as if the walkers weren't bad enough." "Whatever," Scott interrupted, "Why did you barge in here, and how did you know we were still in this one?" "Well for one thing you never came out of the tent. And for the love of god, didn't you hear the scream?" Allison began to say something, but Stiles quickly realized this and cut her off. "Oh god, please don't say it. I heard that. I meant of terror, coming from where Lydia and Misty went."

"Help me!" Lydia struggles to climb up the seats of the bus, the gelatinous lurkers reaching for her. "Please, oh my god, will someone help me?" She dug her nails into the feeble seats, tearing the fabric as she hoisted herself up. In her panic, she dropped her shotgun amongst the lurkers, and their crawling bodies were covering it. The gunshot may or may not attract additional walkers, but she would at least enjoy the sense of security it brought her. Suddenly, the seat she was climbed up gave way. The metal legs tore away from the floor and the seat bent at a sharp angle, throwing her off. She landed on a moving blob of hunger, arms slowly flailing to catch their prey. She panicked and squirmed, finding herself covered in putrid gore. One hand caught her right arm, the same happening with the left. She saw two decayed mouths opening up, their nightmarish teeth seeking her flesh. Their bodies may have been closer to goo than a solid, their grip was strong enough to pin her. Another pair of arms grabbed her legs. She closed her eyes, waiting for the burn of the bite.


	3. Chapter 3

One gunshot. Two, three, four, five, six. The growling mass of rotten flesh grew quiet, replaced by Lydia's own short and panicked breaths. Her eyes swiveled in her head, discovering bullet holes in the skulls of the walkers. Those hands that had wrapped their skeletal fingers around her limbs had gone limp, weakly clinging to her forearms and ankles. She scrambled up, spinning her head to find who fired the gun.

It was Stiles, hanging upside down in the opened door at the front of the bus. His pistol was still pointing at one of the walkers, a faint stream of smoke bleeding out. "I heard you screaming." he said. "Looks like we're even now, huh?" Though well out of breath, she managed to respond with a weak chuckle. She carefully made her way over the corpses; she now felt comfortable thinking of them as such. Stiles' face twisted when she approached him, the stench no doubt striking his nose as unbearably revolting. "Sorry," she said through recovering gasps, "I know it smells awful. The worst part is my clothes." Stiles pulled himself out of the door, propping himself upright so he could pull Lydia out.

Coming into the sunset, the gore coating Lydia's clothes glistened. Allison and Scott gagged. "That's disgusting," Allison shouted, "What happened?" "Nothing major," Lydia replied, "Just a bunch of little walkers ambushing me in the bus." "Did you find anything?" Stiles asked. "Was it worth it?" "Not at all," she replied, "All I found was a box filled with rotten lunches. And, I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but what the hell took you guys so long?" "These two were feeling stressed," Stiles explained, "And they decided the tents were a good place to sploosh." "Sploosh?" Scott exclaimed. "What the hell kind of an innuendo is that?" "A perfect one," Stiles replied, "And did you never watch FX?" "Could we not do this again?" Alison begged. "It's very awkward to have you guys talk about our sex lives like this."

"And with that I'm done with this day." Lydia interrupted. "Let's find Misty and get out of here. I need to change anyways. And wash my hair. And clean my nails. This isn't gonna be a fun evening for me." "But wait," said Allison, "Why did you just scream? Not to nitpick, but if you shouted 'Help,' I would've jumped at that." "What are you talking about?" Lydia barked. "I did shout 'help,' it's all I shouted." "She's right," added Stiles, "Didn't you hear her?" Allison and Scott exchanged a glance. Confusion. "No," Allison continued, "I never heard words. Just, shouts." They all looked towards the park's buildings, and sprinted.

"Misty!" "Misty, where are you!" "Misty, please say something!" They were shouting and frantically searching the site, but Misty was not answering their calls. Stiles broke down the doors to the main building, despite its doors being unlocked and ajar, and stormed down the hall. There were three rooms. He kicked open the door to his left, three walkers turning their eyes to him. Four shots put them down. Misty wasn't in there, but nor was there any gore to suggest she was eaten. Next was the door to his right. There were more walkers in here, six this time. A glistening puddle of blood at the far end of the room caught his eye. Furious, he opened fire on the undead. It only took six shots this time.

"Where did Stiles go?" asked Lydia. "I didn't see Misty in the supply shed." "He stormed into the main building," Allsion replied, "And we haven't found her either. We found some walkers, but no fresh blood or remains. Everything was rotten." The trip followed Stiles' trail, through the busted doors, across the lobby of death, and to the doorway of the room on the right. Stiles stood in the middle of the room, the bodies of six walkers laid out around him. Fresh blood stained his shoes. "Stiles," said Scott, "Is it Misty?" "No," he responded as he turned around, "It was rats." "We couldn't find her anywhere," said Lydia, "Are you done searching this place?"

Allison slowly opened the door to the final room. The waning sunset cast weak shades of orange, red, and yellow on the room. There were opened drawers everywhere. "Nothing," said Allison, "Not a goddamn thing." "I wouldn't say that." said Stiles as he crouched down. Beneath a desk he saw a handle, a handle adorned with feathers and bohemian jewelry. "It's Misty's machete." He lifted the handle, revealing a long, dirty blade. "And it's dry." "Guys," Scott interrupted, "Look." Amongst the rough edges of the hole in the wall, there was blood. And beyond that, outside the wall, footsteps, disheveled and scattered, but then leading off into the arboreal cover of the bayou. "Jesus Christ."

"Looks like someone's doing our job for us." Marie observed, eyes peering once more through her binoculars. "Too bad though. I'm not about to let some, strung out cracker junkies take my satisfaction away." "Are we going to follow them?" asked Derek. Marie pondered his question. "Yes and no." she replied. "No in that it won't be their trail we're following, but yes, in that we'll be following her friends." She turned her eyes away from the scene unfolding up the road, and I nstead reaching into her bad. She drew a curved dagger, the handle built from bone. She raised the blade, allowing the sunset to cast a majestic filter over it.

"I thought you didn't want to kill them," Derek inquired, "What changed?" She chuckled. "I didn't want to have to, but witches become powerful when faced with a crisis. She'll expose herself, and they'll more than likely defend her, regardless of their shock. When they do, we'll kill them all." Derek looked up at the sky. He saw the moon, a bloody spectre waiting for the sun to leave the celestial sphere. A small crest of black marred its nearly circular form. "Do you think this opportunity will still be available in two days?" Marie joined Derek in his examination of the sky. "I'm certain," she replied, "But if for some reason we fail, we'll just continue as we have been." Derek smiled, his eyes fixed on the moon. "Either way," he said, "Soon I'll get to flex my muscles, and Misty Day will die with all of her friends."

"Stiles, please," shouted Scott, "Stop!" Stiles was storming towards the bayou's tree cover, gun in one hand and machete in the other. Misty was a gently soul. He certainly didn't think of her romantically, but she was like a bizarre sister to him. Scott was his greatest friend without a question, but she was the greatest uplifting voice after his father died. And now, now someone had the nerve to take her from them? To kidnap her when they had their backs turned, to take her into the bayou? He would make them pay. They had lost enough members of their group already, Misty would not be another memory. She would not fall victim to this new world, this terrible new world, that took life whenever it sadistically felt like taking it.

"Stiles!" He felt a strong hand, strong but feminine, grab his shoulder and throw him to the group. When he turned around, Lydia was standing over him. "I had no idea you could do that," he said, "But I would've preferred if you waited to show me that until after I find Misty." "And how?" she shouted. "Look at the trail, it heads into the water!" The footsteps stopped at the shore, and the indentation of a boat was left amongst the sweeping waves. "We can't go after her on foot," Lydia continued, "We have to stop, and think." Stiles started to say something, but Lydia shot him a piercing glare. He'd seen her use looks of a lesser degree during school, but this jugglernaught was only used in the lost dire of situations. Your soul feels cold, and your mind regrets everything you've done that could've lead up to this point. Her look softened, and she offered him her hand.

"Get inside Cordelia!" Queenie swatted away the walkers tailed Cordelia. She jumped inside the store, slamming the door behind her. The two pushed a shelf in front of it. "Shit," she continued, "I thought the herd moved out of the city." "They did," Cordelia replied, "This is a new one." "Well we're not prepared for it, we have to find another way out." "We could-" "Don't even say it," Queenie interrupted, "There is no way in hell I'm running back to the school." Cordelia scanned the store. The back door wasn't barricaded. "Let's go out the back," she suggested, "And hope that we can get up a ladder." "What if there is no ladder?" Queenie asked. "And what if those things are waiting for us." "It's either that, or you break out your running shoes." "Or I could use my pyrokinesis."

"Out of the question," Cordelia snapped, "We could burn down the school if it spreads." The wooden door was broken through, and the shelf shook violently. "You said I could earlier!" Queenie shouted. "What changed?" "The school is too close!" "Tell that to them!" Queenie replied. "Cordelia, if we want to survive, if we want witches to survive in this new world, we have to take risks." The growls of the undead grew louder, the shelf creaking and rocking back and forth. "This year, you've proven you're not just some timid headmistress. You're strong, you're powerful. And you have to let me be too." An arm tore through the shelf, a decreed hand flailing through. "Cordelia!" The shelf collapsed, several walkers tumbling in with it. As the three scrambled off the ground, the herd poured in behind them. "Please!" Queenie shouted. "Do it!" Cordelia replied.

The herd erupted into an enormous ocean of flames. At the school, the girls were drawn to the window by a sudden, brief flicker of light in the distance. "Holy shit," said Madison, "It looks like Queenie's flexing those fire muscles. But she's so wild with them. I'm much more refined." "Says the girl with crotchless panties," Myrtle jabbed, "Or are you even wearing underwear right now." Madison snickered, and spread her legs towards Myrtle. "They're Victoria's Secret you old hot pocket, but no offense taken."

"Well done," said Cordelia, "I'm sorry I was so hesitant." "You can thank me by helping me up." Queenie replied. "Climbing's almost as bad as running." Cordelia lowered her hand, and arduously pulled Queenie over the edge of the roof. "Thanks girl," she said, "Let me try putting out those fires." As Queenie moved to the opposite end of the roof, Cordelia took a moment to examine their current situation. The sun had all but left the sky. Night was not a strange territory for them; most supply runs had been done in the cover of darkness. The trouble was that they were very far off their planned route. Cordelia doubted that they could make it back before evening departed and the earliest hours of morning took their place. But perhaps she was mistaken.

To her right, there was a sturdy plank bridge between their rooftop and the open window of an apartment building. The building was dark, but upon inspected its bottom floor, she observed heavy barricades and boarded windows. She was unsure of her discovery though. Nine times out of ten, other survivors would respond aggressively to strangers. If they provoked even the friendliest of their fellow humans, they could be injured, or forced to injure them. On the other hand, the walkers would without a doubt be drawn to them for some time. In truth, the decision wouldn't be hard to make.

"Sorry it took so long," said Queenie, "I made it worse before I put it out. And those things are still coming." "Queenie," said Cordelia as she directed her attention to the bridge, "We're going to cross that bridge." She scoffed. "Thin wood doesn't like big women. And I mean that in more than one way." "Another time," Cordelia interrupted, "Because this time, we either wait the walkers out, risk charging through them, or we cross this bridge." "And who built that bridge?" Queenie replied. "How do we know if they're going to attack us or not?"

"We are."


	4. Chapter 4

As the world fell apart, many fled through the bayous to escape New Orleans. Never had any of those poor souls walked out, or seen the other shore. Be it walkers or the armed quarantine forces, the murky waters were filled with rotting lurkers, snatching whoever was foolish enough to drift into their hell. If you had a boat in the bayou, you were not a witless idiot. You were a skilled survivor and above all else, dangerous. If you had good intentions you hid within the dry wilderness, or found shelter on the outskirts of the city. As for those within the bayou and the city, Stiles and the others commonly referred to them as the raiders.

These people managed to gather most of what the military had left behind, and instead of using it to help their fellow survivors, they used it to pillage supplies and and people wherever and whenever they so felt the urge. Senseless slaughter was another common item on their agenda. Their group had been lucky so far, only ever encountering these raiders five times over the course of the year. Only once did they lose someone. It was Lydia's mother, to a sniper's bullet. Maybe that was why Stiles felt so strange to have her be the one holding him back now, as they sat powerless to help Misty Day.

"We can't track them." said Lydia. "The water doesn't leave a trail, and it's too dark to use our binoculars." "What about the night vision goggles?" asked Allison. "Did we ever get those working?" "Of course not," Stiles barked, "If we did, why would I be sitting her twiddling my thumbs." "Jesus Christ," she replied, "What the fuck was that for?" "I'm done losing people!" Stiles shouted. "When is it going to stop?" "Alright!" Lydia interjected. "Stop! I'd say you're making enough noise to raise the dead, but they're already munching and chomping all over the fucking place." "Then let's stop!" Scott yelled as he rose form the ground.

"Look," he continued, "This isn't a conversation for tonight. Stiles, we are not going to leave it at this. When the sun rises, we can search the area and main building, see if they left us anything." The other three exchanged looks. They'd already gotten at each other's throats, so soon after they'd lost another one of their friends. They were all embarrassed. "I'm sorry I snapped at you Allison," said Stiles, "But, I just don't want to have another funeral." "Neither do I." Allison replied. Even in the dark, he could see her eyes watering. "Misty was, she was really different, but she could always pull a positive form the worst of things, you know?" Now the tears rolled down her eyes, and Scott quickly came to her side.

They trekked back to the vehicles on the highway. The flatbed was parked parallel to the stretch of road behind them, Stiles' jeep to the road ahead of them. In the space between they set up their sleeping bags and canopy. Stiles took the first guard detail for the night. At midnight, Scott would take his place, and then Lydia would stand guard until it was time for them to go back into the park. Tonight, the all but impenetrable cloak of darkness was not so oppressive. In the distance, within New Orleans, there was a weak, orange glow. Fires? What started them? He found it amusing to think that someone would dare to come into the city. It probably wasn't survivors, he thought, but another part of the city succumbing to neglect. At least this time they were far away, detached from those dangers. Their own worries were plenty enough.

Her head was throbbing. Opening her eyes, the world was dark. The sun had set and gone, and some weak glow behind her outlined the details of her surroundings. Her vision was still blurred, but she could identify the end of an oar slowly dipping above and below the side of the boat. Boat? What was she doing here? No, no, she knew. There were three of them, armed men much stronger than her. They knocked her machete from her hands before she could begin to make a swing. She screamed and kicked as they tried to restrain her. Then one of them grabbed a baseball bat, and the world went dark. It was still dark, but lighter, and not a painful memory. "Look who's awake."

She arduously turned her head. There sat the three men who attacked her. Two were rowing the boat, a canoe as it would appear, and the third sat at the front of the bow. A lantern sat at his feet, a baseball bat in his arms. "You may go under easy," he continued, "But you spring up pretty quickly." "I get that a lot." Misty uttered. "Now, who are you?" "Who I am isn't important. What's important is what you are." Misty's body was blanketed in goosebumps. She had flashbacks of when her family confronted her, when they beat her and tormented her, when they found out she was- "A witch." he enunciated with spite. It was a spot on imitation of her father. "To think that so many of you survived the end of the world sickens me." Others? "What do you mean 'others?'" she asked. "How many have you killed?" The stranger smiled. "Unfortunately, none yet, ironic since we came here to take out that damn school. Honestly we hoped the walkers did it for us. But then we found some of your friends in the city."

Misty felt sick, and turned herself away from her despicable kidnappers. "We're still here." he said. "I think you're under the impression that we're going to kill you. You're right, but not yet. You're useful to us." "'Useful?'" she asked without facing him. "What is that supposed to mean?" "That we're gonna kill three birds with one stone." he chuckled. "You, the wolf, and that damned Voodoo Queen." Misty snapped up. "What the hell are you talking about you bastard?" She never saw it coming. One of the other men swung his oar, striking the side of her head. She fell with a heavy thud. "How was that necessary?" "The bitch was getting snippy." "I guess I can let it pass. It'll be easier to explain it to her when the firestarter and her friend get to the plant."

The hours crept by at a snail's pace. The weak orange glow burned in Stiles' eyes. His mind was still racing, despite his body begging for him to go to sleep. He jumped off the truck and took a walk. As long as he got back before the shift change, in a half hour, he'd be fine. He wanted to believe without a doubt that they would find Misty, but his adrenaline rush had died down long ago, and he could think more clearly. They didn't hear a motor, so the boat must've been moving with oars. Which meant, even though they couldn't have gotten far by the time they got there, that the cloak of night would escort them safely within the bayou. Shit, the canoe could've been within eyesight, but the trees would've hidden it.

He looked back. Their campsite was still close, he could keep going. What about searching the bayou? It was a lot of ground to cover, dangerous ground. They had no way of passing through deep waters, and no one wanted to stand in water deeper than what could cover your ankles. But, whoever took her had to be deep inside the bayou, otherwise, they would be able to see the lights of their camp. He checked his surroundings, peering into the pitch black distance to see if any faint glows of yellow or orange would betray their owners. Nothing; the overgrowth didn't help. He wouldn't mind taking a gardener's duty for a while. Ten years should be enough to tame the wilderness.

"I was thinking he'd never leave." Marie motioned for Derek to follow her over the truck. "Good thing he gets lost in thought." "Remind me again why we're not just going to the plant now," whispered Derek, "It sure would be a lot simpler." "Mon Cher, I may be the Voodoo Queen, but I can't handle all of those men with guns. You can't either, even if you do go wolf." Marie drew a crumbled up piece of paper from her pocket. "It'll also serve to split them." said Derek. "They'll know someone dozed off, and it'll raise tensions." "Even after a year, I'm still impressed by you catching on." She dropped the paper in the middle of the camp, and the two quickly made their exit. They would stay close though, hiding in the thick tree cover beneath them.


	5. Chapter 5

"I don't hear them." Once more Nan's eyes gazed beyond the barred windows of the school. The sun was inching over the city skyline, rays of light pushing back the shroud darkness. "They should've been back hours ago." "Well we saw the fires," said a barely conscious Madison, "So they're obviously still fighting. Now, I'm going back to bed. It's way too early for this shit Nan." "Why aren't you ever worried?" snapped Nan. "You're always so cold." "Bitch, take a look outside. That world out there? That's a world that destroys the weak, and the strong don't do much better either." "So why not try being nice? If we could all die tomorrow, then why not?" "Because the person who dies tomorrow is the one decided to be nice today." Madison was right. It was too early for this shit. Nan turned her eyes back to the window, and Madison left the room.

"Where did this come from?" Lydia held the crumpled paper up in the middle of their camp. The others crawled out of their bedding; no one slept well last night. "What's what?" Stiles asked in a twilight state. "Did you find something?" "Technically no." Lydia replied. "Something found us." The puzzling reply was enough to pull everyone into an alert state of mind. Stiles snatched the paper from Lydia's hand, realizing immediately afterwards that she was probably annoyed that he did. He buried his face in the paper instead, though it was a sight no better than fury. "What's on it?" asked Allison. "A note," Lydia replied, "One from whoever it was that took Misty." "Read it Stiles." Allison commanded. "Alright, calm down, I'm reading it."

_I'm sorry to inform you that your friend has been marked for death. That you kept her in your midst is a crime that we would love to punish you for as well. We could've easily taken all of you, but circumstance had our group divided. Come to the nuclear plant if you want to make our jobs easier. You can't save your friend, but you can save our time._

"It's perfect."Derek muttered beneath his breath. "They'll go in there ready to slaughter them. In all the chaos, it'll be no problem taking the witches down." "It still upsets me that I could've been so foolish." Marie whispered. "Shit, thinking that the goddamn apocalypse would stop them when a few hundred years of hunting couldn't? I'll fix it soon enough." Above them, voices started rising in the group. "They're yelling at each other," said Derek. "Let's take a listen.

"At least they didn't try anything on us!" "That's not the point Allison! Our guard plan last night was sloppy enough for someone to come into our camp!" "It's a few footsteps, from one person!" "Shut up!" Stiles managed to raise his voice above Lydia's and Allison's. "Look, just, let's all shut up, alright?" The claws retracted, allowing Lydia and Allison to collect themselves for a moment. "If anyone screwed up, it was me. Sometimes when I'm on guard duty I'll take a short walk." The other three were ready to pounce on Stiles, but he quickly started talking again. "Nope, not yet. I never go far; the camp is always in sight." "I appreciate the honesty." said Scott. "And, while I still do feel like killing you, it's not worth getting my asthma worked up over." "And as much as I share that killing sentiment," Lydia began, "We do have a more pressing concern. These people want to kill us, and for whatever reason, they think Misty is destined to be killed. It isn't safe to stay here anymore."

"Then let's go to the nuclear plant," Stiles interjected, "And if I remember right it isn't unbearably far from here." "Stiles," Lydia interrupted, "I'm saying we need to leave New Orleans, leave this state, just, drive as far away as we can." "Bullshit." Allison snapped. "As much as I'd love to leave this place we can't." "There are other gas stations," said Lydia, "We find one that's got fuel and then we drive in that direction" "We won't leave Misty." Scott affirmed. "We can't." "I would love to believe we could save her, but these people are crazy. The note is written in blood, but it's borderline artistic. They're smart, they know what they're doing, and we're their targets."

"I really didn't think my writing was that good, but I won't deny a compliment."

"So imagine what they'll do to her!" Stiles exclaimed. "Imagine what they're doing to her right now."

"They're having some difficulty on their decision. Teenagers love to bicker and yell." "I think I have a solution." said Derek. "You think? Last I checked I did the thinking for both of us." "Use me. I can pose as another survivor, someone who's been wronged by the same people who took their friend." "Mon Cher that is brilliant."

"That's idiotic!" barked Lydia. "We cannot charge in like some kind of Rambo movie. We'd be dead before we got inside." "We have enough ammo for a short firefight," said Stiles, "Enough ammo to find Misty, scavenge other weapons, and fight our way back out." "But we're not soldiers, we're teenagers! We fought walking corpses for a year, not people. The rare occasions when we did, there were more of us. And we still lost." "Of course we'll think of a plan, I'm not stupid."

"You think they'll stop?" Allison and Scott sat a few feet away from Lydia and Stiles, the two ends of the spectrum arguing over what they should do. Ordinarily they would stop this bickering, but they haven't had breakfast yet. "Nope," Scott replied, "Because if they would, we wouldn't have had to step in every other time." "They're like an old married couple." "The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife."

"Slitting their throats would mean getting inside the plant!" "It was sarcastic!"

"Good Lord they're loud." Marie massaged her temples as Stiles and Lydia yelled at each other. The distraction was a welcome one though. Admiringly, she was nervous without her puppet around to protect her. She didn't consider herself weak, but she sure as hell enjoyed having an extra pair of eyes. Confidently, she assured herself that this whole affair wouldn't last long. A week at the most, if she had to take a guess. Hopefully they wouldn't yell this much.

"I will kick your dick inside of you!" "On that note," said Scott as he stood up with Allison, "It's time for our mandatory-" "Shut up!" Everyone went silent when this new, unfamiliar voice called out to them. Its magnitude and force had showed no worry in betraying where its caller was. On the other side of the road, when they turned around, stood a man. He was battered from the world, but nowhere near what they had seen with other people. As for Stiles, the stranger was quite the welcome sight, clad in a leather jacket, jeans, a bloodied white shirt, and boots. His hair was unbelievably well kept for a world that would expect much less, and his body was tall, built, and muscular. Stiles was aware that he was staring longer than he should, but his mind wouldn't let him care.

"Who the fuck are you?" asked Scott. "And, when did you get here?" "I might ask you that question." replied the stranger. "I was here, a little way down the road, when I heard screaming last night. I was with two others, but I told them to wait while I checked it out. I see you guys, pulling her out of a bus. You were really bloody." "Well why didn't you say anything?" "I was going to, but then I heard you say how your other friend was in trouble. That's when I noticed I heard screams too. When I got back, they were both gone." "Who?" "Ashley and Cameron. You couldn't miss them; they were blonde, one with green eyes, one with blue."

"Our friend was blonde too." Stiles stammered. Embarrassed at his speech, he pinched himself to break his trance. "Do you think it's the same people?" "You have a note?" asked the stranger. "Is it written in blood?" "Yeah," Stiles held the note up, "What about you?" The man raised a torn piece of paper in reply. Even from their distance, Stiles could tell the handwriting was identical, and based on the expressions from the others, they knew it too. "A gang of blonde kidnappers?" Allison asked sarcastically. "What the hell is this, the apocalypse on acid?" "I'm no less confused than you are," the stranger interrupted, "But I think we could both help each other." "We don't even know your name." Lydia interjected. "Who are you?" "My name is Derek Hale."

"Cordelia Foxx." The masked man hit her with the butt of his gun. She could feel her blood, warm on her skin in the frigid room, trickling down her cheek. "Now was that so hard?" "No, but neither was it necessary. You're witch hunters, so what do you care who we're called?" "It's all part of the plan Ms. Foxx." "Believe me, I'm aware of that plan. You've been trying to destroy us for centuries, but I thought the end of the world would also be an end to such, arbitrary, useless obsessions." Another strike, this time she heard her nose break. Her face was throbbing with pain, and she struggled to keep her composure. Queenie was lying next to her, unconscious, and as much as she hated to admit it, she made a useful prop. A useful, drugged up, beaten prop.

"Believe me, this world may have gone to hell, but I will be eaten alive before I allow witches to go freely." The man laughed, and left the room. It was a large closet, but they had retrofitted it to be some horrendous torture chamber. Cordelia allowed herself to fall to the floor. It felt good to let go, to allow her body to go limp and try to heal. The pain still persisted, terrible and nagging, but for now it wouldn't get any worse. She arduously turned herself over, so that she could see Queenie. Her mouth hung open, drool slowly pooling on the floor. They gave her horse tranquilizer, and beat her with the butt of a shotgun. Blood flowed into the drool.

"I know you can't hear me Queenie, but we're in trouble. I don't think we'll be able to use your abilities to get us out. No, I won't be able to. Christ, I'm useless right now." She stopped to spit blood out of her mouth. "I wish I had never let you use your powers. If I hadn't, you could use them now, and free us from this prison." Now tears were rolling down Cordelia's cheeks. On the side where the man had beaten her most severely, the tears fell as cloudy red droplets. "If this is how I die, I can accept that. But I can't accept leaving the school as it is. The girls still need guidance. I can still be useful."

With a loud slam the door flew open. Two new men were dragging in a blonde girl, her face buried in her hair. "The gang's all here." her tormentor jokingly announced. "Finally we can get to work." Without saying another word, and without allowing Cordelia the chance to speak, they left the room once more. The girl they left was unconscious, and as such Cordelia assumed that she was drugged. Though her body cried out with every movement she made, she managed to prop herself up and turn the girl over. She had a large welt on her forehead, but it was something she wouldn't have gotten from the butt of a gun. The rest of her face was unharmed, surprisingly intact. Her face. Cordelia sat up with a sudden surge of energy. Her face, her face. She'd seen it before, but only in one form. How could she forget it though, she was a big focus of the news for a week, even when the world started to fall apart. She had to touch it, just to make sure she wasn't imagining things.

"Misty Day?"


	6. Chapter 6

Lydia spread the map out on the hood of Stiles' jeep. "Alright," she began, "If we want to take on the power plant, we need to resupply. And not just on ammo and guns." "She's right," Derek chimed in, "There's no roads leading directly to it anymore." "How would you know that?" Scott interrupted. Derek scowled. "My group travelled through the area a few months ago. It was a bad decision though, since we lost five people." Scott didn't reply to Derek, but he did allow him and Lydia to continue. "I'm sorry," she began, "But that is useful information. Unfortunately though, this means we have to go back into New Orleans." "This place was really lacking." said Allison. "It definitely won't give us what we need." "We can just skirt the outer limits of the city," Stiles suggested, "Or shit, even the airport. That's where all the camps were when the military tried to contain this. And we already have water."

The others gave Stiles a puzzled look. "Oh, whoops. In all that kidnapping chaos, I forgot to tell you I found thirty big ass boxes of water jugs." "We'll load it up then." Derek said. "And that's a good thing that you found it. Water's hard to find out there these days." _What the fuck_, Stiles thought, _Why am I feeling so, nervous?_ "Food shouldn't be much of an issue," Allison added, "As long as flavor isn't an issue. We've got plenty of MRE's." "Then weapons are our main focus." Lydia declared. "Obviously keep an eye out for heavy clothing and boots too. Lord knows we don't have clothing for trudging through swamps." "Maybe we can find a boat too," Scott suggested, "Or something to substitute for one." "Something we'll deal with once we're on the road." Lydia interrupted. "Derek, Scott, Allison, pack up camp."

As the other three got to work, Lydia pulled Stiles aside. "I'm going with Scott and Allison." she whispered into his ear. "You'll ride with Derek." "What?" He had to fight to keep himself from shouting. "Why?" "Because I'm not sure if we can trust him yet. His arrival was very coincidental." "So I'm the one that can get killed if he's some kind of savage?" "Don't think of it like that. You, for some reason, persevere through the worst of it and always come out alive." "For a smart girl, I really don't understand your reasoning." "But it's happening, so just talk to him and stay alive." Stiles looked over her shoulder. Derek was helping Scott roll up their blankets and sleeping bags. Wasn't he was too attractive to be a bad guy? Then again, he looked like a bad boy. He caught himself zoning out again, and this time he had to stop himself. "We're done!" Allison shouted. "I think we should all go get the water, yeah?" "On our way." Lydia replied. "And Stiles," she whispered, "Just go with it."

"Please just go with it Nan," Madison insisted, "I'm bored out of my fucking mind in this shit hole." "At least this shit hole has some class." said Myrtle. "That's more than I can say for you my dear." Myrtle's eyes panned over to the ouija board between Madison and Nan. She felt goosebumps creep over her body as she puffed out the smoke of her cigarette. "That's a dark instrument," Myrtle continued, "And though not all spirits hold malice, the good is almost impossible to pluck from the bad." "I'm not playing Scrabble twice in a week." Madison snapped. "Be happy that I'm at least following Cordelia's rule of not practicing my powers when she's absent." "That is a first," she replied, "But if either of you brings some form of a hell minion into this sacred house you will have to banish it. Yourselves." Nan opened her mouth to speak, but Madison cut her off. "So you'll leave?" Myrtle knelt down, and blew a cloud of smoke into Madison's face. "I've always felt like doing that." Madison rolled her eyes, and as Myrtle shut the door to her bedroom, she and Nan placed their fingers on the planchette. She glared at the blinds and they fell, allowing darkness to fill the room. She shut her eyes, and two candles lit around them. "You used your powers." "No shit. Now, are we alone?"

"For now," Cordelia uttered, "But I don't think it'll last much longer. Do you remember anything?" Misty's eyes strained in the dark room, and she was exhausting herself trying to keep her gaze on Cordelia. "I do," she muttered, "I remember being taken. And I woke up once. But they knocked me out." "I got the worst of it, and I'd imagine they don't have such friendly plans for you either." "Who are they?" Misty cried. "Why didn't they kill us earlier?" "Believe me I am just as confused as you are. Witch hunters never took prisoners, at least as far as I'm aware of." "Witch hunters?" The words left a strange taste on Misty's tongue. And yet they stirred her memories, of those involving her family and their friends attacking her. Hunters? Did they burn witches too? Of course they would, where else would that come from? She didn't want to be burned again, and her breathing elevated. "Misty," said Cordelia, "Misty are you alright?" "I don't wanna be burned!" she shouted amongst loud sobs. "It happened once already, and it won't happen to me again!"

"We're not going to burn you." Cordelia and Misty spun around. Neither of them had heard nor noticed the door open, the the two men who slid inside. "While it may be a, tradition of sorts, it wouldn't be practical." Both Misty and Cordelia cringed, the latter from generalized fear of their eventual murderers entering the room. Misty, though, remembered the man speaking to them. He was the one who spoke to her on the boat; he left quite an, impression. She wanted to scream, scream like she did at the park. But they didn't hear her then, and they certainly wouldn't now. And why couldn't they hear her? Why did they let this happen? "I'm glad you're awake." The man addressed Misty directly. She felt a knot tie in her stomach. "Well I'm not." she replied. "If I never heard your voice again it'd be too soon." He smiled. "Well I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you'll be hearing it up until the moment you three die." "Then get it over with," Cordelia interjected, "What the hell are you waiting for?"

Riding in the jeep was unbearably awkward. Derek was like a statue in the passenger's seat, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. Stiles considered trying to start a conversation, but what was there to talk about? It was hard getting to know other survivors, and it didn't help when they were about as talkative as a brick. Still, it was worth a shot. "I remember when they shut down the airport." he began. "It was crazy. There were those two, jumbo jets that crashed into the Mississippi River. I remember it because, it was enough of a distraction for the walkers to allow us to escape from Jackson Square." Silence. "I remember that day." Maybe not. "I was so sure that they were gonna tear through these shops were we hiding in." Success. "When the tail started to dip, right?" "Right. But like you said, it was enough of a distraction for us to get the fuck out of the city."

They passed a walker hobbling on their right side. They were going to start seeing lots of them soon. "We actually didn't officially leave the city until two months ago. No matter how hard we tried, we always got stuck, or had to stay just one more night." "That's a lot of one more nights. How many people did you lose doing that?" _Wow_, Stiles thought, _That was blunt. He doesn't waste time, I guess._ "Too many." "That's not a number " "I don't like saying it out loud." "If that's what you want, fine. Honestly, it's better if you face this world and all it chooses to throw at you. It never goes away, but it does get easier to live with." "I don't know if I want it to." For the first time since they started talking, Stiles noticed that Derek was looking at him. Was he warming up to him? His face suddenly turned forward. "Turn!" Stiles barely saw the walker before the jeep reduced it to a growling smear on the road. In his rear view mirror he saw it's arms flailing, before it was ran over once more by the pickup. "Maybe we should just watch the road." Derek spoke with a cutting sarcasm. "I don't want that happened again when the herds get big." _Wow_, Stiles thought to himself again, _He really doesn't waste time. Slightly emotional rock to dick in 3.5. _

Surprisingly, the number of walkers started to rapidly increase. In the streets, the crowds were less dense, while great numbers of the undead were herding amongst New Orleans' outlying infrastructure. "Stiles," Lydia's voice cracked over the radio, "You're seeing this, right?" "Roger that." he replied. "The airport's in sight though, we're almost there." "Just remember what happened last time," Scott urged, "When we went by the stadium." "It won't happen like that again." Stiles assuredly announced. "We're all going to make it through, and then we're going to get into the airport and find all the shit we need to save Misty." Derek rolled down the window. A walker was coming up on their right again, and with a swift swing of a tire iron he smashed its soft head in half. "One less," he said calmly as he dropped the tire iron in the road, "Of the walkers, and of crappy weapons." "It's better than fists." Stiles insisted. "Which is what it'll be if we run out of ammo. The other melee weapons are in the truck." "So you kept that one?" _At least we're talking again. _

Marie sat on the hood of a Prius, the insides of the car blackened by some flame she could care less about the origins of. "He better hurry with them. If he transforms before he gets them back to the witches, I won't get another chance like this." She looked behind her. She couldn't see the building through the dense overgrowth, but she knew it was a long journey. It was also one that she'd have to start immediately if she wanted to get there in time. "I'm starting to resent those other hunters. They've made work easier in the past, but in this world there's only enough room for one witch killing motherfucker. I should dispose of the wolf afterwards too. Too much of a trouble, and I don't want him fixating on some kind of revenge. She heard a snarling growl approaching from behind her. The walker had lost most of its torso, and it rocked back and forth as it grabbed for her. Marie laughed, the whole sight being quite amusing. She didn't waste her time killing it however. She grabbed her gear and began her journey, with a nagging worry about her pawn failing.

Stiles slammed on the brakes. As they rounded the corner, a tremendous herd of the undead was shuffling through the road. Their milky, decayed eyes spun towards the jeep and truck, and in a huge uproar they hobbled towards their vehicles. "This could be a problem." said Derek. "Please tell me you have some explosives." Annoyed that he was not met with a reply, Derek turned his head to discover the car door wide open, and Stiles sprinting towards the truck in the rear view mirror. "Asshole." "Scott!" The other three were already exiting the vehicle when Stiles arrived. "We have a problem." "That's why we have these." Lydia tossed Stiles an assault rifle. "We have to get through, we've gone too far already." "We'll need more than that." Derek insisted as he joined the group. "You'll burn through all your ammo." "They're ready!" Allison called from the back of the truck. Scott and Lydia ran to her, and moments later returned with the snow plows. Derek's eyes lit up. "That'll work. But what are the guns for then?" "Stragglers," Stiles answered, "Those bastards that refuse to die easily and cling on to the cars." "Why are we still talking?" Lydia barked. "We have a herd to kill."

At nearly half a ton, once the plows were off the wheels they were incredibly difficult to move. When they had Misty, it took all five of them an arduous amount of effort to mount it to the select vehicle. Derek only needed two people to help him steady the plow as he lifted it to the hood while the others attached it. Stiles was taken back. He'd heard of people who bench and lift incredible amounts of weight, but Derek wasn't like them; his muscles didn't look like they were trying to break from his skin. How was it possible that he could do this himself? There was no time to ponder, as the herd was mere feet from them. Stiles and Derek jumped back into the keep, the latter toting the assault rifle Lydia had tossed to Stiles. "Rock 'n' roll!" Stiles shouted. "Don't say that," Derek demeaned, "Its really unattractive." _What?_ He slammed on the gas, and after a few seconds the waves of gore and blood splashed dismemberment across the pavement. Derek covered his face with a rag as he fired on the stragglers. The road began to grow bumpy from the undead collapsing over each other, and the plow made louder and louder noises of carnage. "You guys alright?" Stiles asked over the handset. "The herd's thicker than we thought." "We're fine!" Allison shouted over gunfire and growling. "But, tell me we're almost done. I think I'm going to lose it soon." "What do you mean?" Stiles was answered with a retching gag, followed by Scott and Lydia shouting in disgust. "Oh, that's what you meant. Well I think I can see the edge of it."

Derek's shout pierced Stiles' ears and sent a chill down his spine. He turned to see a disembodied head, teeth sunk into Derek's arms. Blood was pouring from his sleeve, and the assault rifle was no longer in his hand. Stiles pulled his arm inside the jeep; he didn't want to others seeing this. Derek pulled the head off his arm and threw it onto the street. When they cleared the herd, when the road stopped being so rough and bumpy, he peeled his jacket off. A jagged, toothy wound had mutilated his forearm. "We made it!" Scott cheered over the handset. "We'll be at the airport in no time." "Hell yeah," Stiles replied, "Now keep mowing down the fuckers, alright. We'll clean the plows when we stop." "Roger that."

"Derek," he switched off the handset and placed it beneath the driver's seat, "I'm sorry." "Don't be, I'll be fine." Stiles couldn't help but laugh. "Dude, no you're not. That's one of the worst bites I've ever seen." "Don't tell them what happened, and don't let them bring up my jacket." Again, Stiles couldn't hold back his laughter. "How the fuck are you taking this approach. You have until the end of this day, and then you're going to become one of them!" "No you die, and then reanimation time can take a few minutes of a few hours." "What the fuck ever, you're dead!" Derek glared at Stiles. His composure was so, composed. He didn't even look white in the face, that special kind of white you turn when your blood rushes form your body and fear sets in. How could he not be panicking. The strongest of individuals would cave when the bite claimed them. So, what did this make him, the man who had his arm chewed on by a severed head and doesn't want anyone to know about it?

Derek's good hand reached into the pocket of his coat, withdrawing a vile filled with a powder. "What's that?" "Something to take care of the poisons." "Poison?" Derek squinted, his eyes closing and his jaw clenching. He took the powder, or ash, Stiles couldn't tell what it was, and he smeared it into the wound. Stiles looked at Derek's arm, and he swore he must've been hallucinating when the flesh began to seal up. Black sludge dripped out as the teeth wounds sealed, as the teeth themselves were pushed out. In a few seconds, the bite was gone. No scars, no new blood, only smooth, I damaged skin, and the black liquid that seeped out. "What the fuck just happened?" "I had to rub this into it, to purge that shit from my body." "Your arm just healed from a bite, and you're sounding like you believe you're cured." "Believe me, it isn't a cure. It's a curse."


	7. Chapter 7

They parked as though nothing had happened. They had to stop outside the chain link fence of the airport; any further and the walkers would become a problem again. The others didn't seem the least bit curious as to why he'd removed his jacket, and Derek gave them no reason to. He behaved as if that head's rotten teeth had never sunk into him. "It's a curse." These words echoed in Stiles mind. For the remainder of the drive to the airport, Derek had not said another word to him. He seemed like he wanted to, like he was going to explode, but his lips never parted. It was very unusual to observe. To Stiles, it actually seemed like something was forcing him to stay silent. Upon their arrival, he did his best to dismiss these thoughts. They only knew this stranger for only a few hours now, and there were probably more than a few other quirks about him. Still, he was insanely hot.

"What time is it?" Scott asked the group. "I have a feeling that killing all those walkers set us back." "It did," Lydia replied as she glanced at her wrist, "It's almost eight." "Take down took longer too," Stiles added as he caught a clip Allison tossed him, "So it's not too much of a setback." "It is when we're on a deadline." Though the others reacted to Derek's voice as they would anyone else's, Stiles flinched. He was surprised that he had started speaking again. "I'd say if we don't get our shit and get to the power plant before two days have passed, they'll all be dead." "That's actually a good point." Allison remarked. "It's by no means a hop and a skip down to the plant, but two days is already a long time to leave Misty and your people with those, monsters."

While the others began brainstorming with Derek about their course of action, Stiles zoned out. He may not have a clear idea of what Derek "should" sound like, but he knew it wasn't how he sounded now. His words seemed forced, like someone telling a lie and trying to convince themselves that it was true. Yet then there was some kind of urgency in his voice, and overall it was hard to describe it with a single word. _What's wrong with him, _his mind obsessed, _People who get bitten die and come back up. Derek gets bitten, heals, and then acts like he's not himself anymore_. Perhaps it was some side effect of whatever it was that he rubbed into his wounds, or of the very action of healing. He decided he had to chime in before he passed his usual period of inactivity.

"What you're saying is crazy, you know that right?" The man ignored Cordelia, focusing instead on the lever he cranked to hoist her into the air. The chains wrapped around her rattled, and her arms and chest stung from the pressure of the restraints. "But it's not like anything you people have ever done was sane." she concluded. "Why even bother asking?" "That's pretty ironic coming from you Ms. Magic Hands." The chain rattled, the lever locking into place. "That should be good enough." "For what?" Misty snapped. "And who the hell are you anyway?" He smiled, approaching Misty as he drew a dagger from his pocket. Her feet dangled at his eye level, so she knew her only concern would be if he were to cut her Achilles tendon. She braced herself for the worst, and began mouthing the words to a healing spell. The man pressed the blade against her foot. Misty still hoped that she was wrong in her assumption, even as he slid the blade just over her toes. Blood dripped down the blade, glistening crimson in the room's dim lighting.

"I'm not going to slice your tendons." She felt a chill run down her spine at the sound of his voice. Was she that transparent? "But I can tell you my name. You can call me Mr. Argent." The name rang unfamiliar to Misty's ear, but Cordelia couldn't recall a time when she had found herself more terrified. "So that's why you're doing all of this." Mr. Agent ended his precision slicing of Misty's foot, and approached Cordelia. The dagger was still drawn, blood tarnishing the blade. "You're not _just_ witch hunters." she continued. "You're just, hunters." He smiled once more, concealing the weapon in his pocket. "I'm glad you're finally putting it all together." "Christ," Misty interrupted, "I couldn't be more lost. Sure I heard about the whole voodoo shit growing up, but werewolves too? This city's just a big old freak show." "Then you can call me your manager." Mr. Argent joked. "You two, the firestarter, the voodoo queen, and the wolf are all fired. I expect you to be gone within the week."

As Mr. Argent crossed the room, Cordelia called out to him. "Wait! Misty was traveling with people, kids. Are you going to hurt them?" "Hopefully, they'll know well enough to stand back. If they try to stop us, we'll fight back. If they're persistent, we'll kill them." He was serious. Cordelia knew he would surely hesitate if it came down to it, she could tell he was at some point a father, but that he would pull the trigger. "They'll try to help Misty. I don't know if I'll be so lucky, but she's one of them." Would he budge? Was there anything she could say to influence this man? Of course there wasn't, and in the back of her mind she already knew he wouldn't be so easily swayed. "Look up, witch bitch." The chains made the simple command an arduous undertaking, and her neck and eyes strained to look above them. There were a dozen large troughs, the edges crusty with a dark substance. "If they're so unlucky as to stand underneath it, when they come to save her, their fate will be the same as yours." "What is it-" "Walker blood. I'd love to see you try to keep that shit out of your body when you're swimming in it.

"Come on, come on." The vines had covered the boat in a thick layer of vegetation, but its metallic shell had remained intact. It would be no problem to use it to reach the power plant, well before the end of her two days. A sudden surge of pain shot up her right arm. "God dammit!" Pulling her hand away from the vines, a thorn came with her, embedded in her palm at the base of a wide gash. It had been buried deep within the overgrowth, as she had no reason to believe any of the plants had such defenses. "As if I had enough time for a healing spell." She held her hand out from her body, and rummaged through her backpack. Proper healing would have to wait until she was floating in the boat, but there were plenty of quick fixes to stop the pain and bleeding. Finally, she identified a vile with cloth wrapped around it. She uncorked the solution and smeared it into her hand. "That's the good shit."

She sighed in relief just as a twig snap caught her attention. "Great." She turned around to see a walker, face all but rotted off and rib cage showing through a torn dress. "Honey you've had better days." A quick flick of the wrist, and a knife was embedded into the undead woman's skull. Her body fell with a soft thud in the underbrush. Her senses were quickly occupied again by a different stimulus. "Again with this?" It appeared that her puppet once more was slipping from her grip. She concentrated, focusing on the werewolf, exerting her will over his own. He was weak, he was an inferior beats, and should be ashamed of disrespecting his master. "That dumbass wolf already blew his cover; I should have him kill them all right now." The thought was more entertaining than practical. He'd gone against her commands, but only ever so slightly. "Only the boy knows." Marie had to say it to herself to remind her to be patient. She was so close, and this one blunder could not stop her. "If I can keep it that way, this could still work." Just as she reached for another vine, a trio of snarls came from behind her. "Again? I have a very hostile work environment."

"Talk about a hostile work environment!" The walkers were swarming towards them, their roars being drowned out by the deafening fire of the assault rifles. Blood splashed across the hallways, gore sprayed onto the furniture, and the undead fell one by one. Stiles always preferred the controlled fire of handguns and shotguns, but he loved mowing down hordes of walkers. It was the closest he'd ever get to playing video games ever again. "Terrorists don't have shit on walking corpses." he announced as the last walker fell. An impressive level of carnage had been dished out, and Stiles took a brief moment to appreciate it. "At least TSA won't be a boring job anymore." _What is this? _Stiles asked himself. _He's playing along now? Is he bipolar? Or, what? _Stiles decided to take advantage of the situation by prying into the healing. "Derek, I want to talk about what happened." Derek stared at him, his eyes demanding Stiles to drop the subject. "I have no way of explaining what I saw, or how you're, I assume, cured?" He didn't want to let it go, he needed an answer. "Again," Derek replied, "This isn't a cure. Like I said, this is a curse."

The more Stiles was rejected by Derek, the more he found himself trying harder to crack him. _Am I really that pathetic? How can I be attracted to someone so soon? _He decided it wasn't too humiliating. He really couldn't resist the physical appeal of Derek, and the mysterious personality was a turn-on. But, could he really say he found Derek attractive? It hadn't even been four hours. "I don't know if this'll open a can of worms," Stiles continued, "But I do want to know more about you." Derek turned away from Stiles and started to rummage through the closest luggage. He was shutting Stiles out, or at least trying to. Little did he know who he was messing with. "It's not just because of me being so, freaked out about your healing. I want to be sure about you." _Why? Why would you say that?_

"You don't have to worry about me. And don't want to know me." Hey, it was something. "Drop it." Or it might as well have been nothing. "Please don't shut me out." _Fuck it, why not?_ "Since this world isn't too nice to people who hold back I'm not going to keep this to myself. I don't know how but I know that I like you, or I at least think you're the sexiest guy I've ever seen. But, I wanted to know more about you before I splurged my feelings to you. I mean, your arm! How the fuck does that happen? But then your whole attitude is actually really seductive, even if it pisses me off at the same time." Derek's expression was unreadable. If it weren't for the look in his eyes, Stiles would've assumed he was completely and utterly disinterested in everything he'd just said. Again though, he couldn't tell what it was that Derek's eyes were saying. _Please, please just speak to me. Don't make me hate myself._

Derek leapt to Stiles. Yes, his feet left the ground and he covered twelve feet or so in a hop. He landed inches from Stiles, who flinched and nearly fall back. Derek caught him, grabbing Stiles' shoulder with painful force. "You're a good guy Stiles." _What?_ "But I'm not." He pulled Stiles into his arms and embraced him. _What?!_ He was so warm, and even with the circumstances leading up to this, it was somehow very, tender? His hold loosened, and Stiles was able to wrap his arms around Derek. He rested his chin on Derek's shoulder, and allowed himself a smile. "I don't care about that Derek." "I'm more trouble than I'm worth." _Alright, I'm definitely falling for this guy._

"Shit, I was afraid this would happen. He's going through emotional swings. I shouldn't have gripped his mind so hard, I fucked him up. Might as well kill him after all of this."

"I still think I should try it first." Madison insisted. "I mean, Nan?" "I'm right here," Nan snapped, "Could you insult me after I get some new headphones?" "No promises sweetie." "Enough of this," Myrtle interjected, "You'll break her concentration. Now, Nan I imagine would be able to successfully perform Divination since she has more power of the mind in the abstract sense. Madison, your power is more with the physical realm, at least that's how it seems to be right now." "Sure, ignore my skills with the Ouija board." "Anyone with an open mind can contact the restless dead." "Well if she fails and I don't, you owe me a bottle of that old champagne you keep in your room." Myrtle shook the wooden bowl full of stones and cast them onto the table before her. "Wager accepted. Now Nan, I want you to divine the location of their clothing, as seeking people is a bit trickier and would require more witches than are currently in this house. For Cordelia, he cream blouse given to her by me on her last birthday. For Queenie, the 'Boss Ass Bitch' shirt she wears to spite me." Nan drew a deep breath, and held her hands ever so slightly above the stones. She could feel the city at her fingertips, buildings and cars passing through her head. The feeling was, unusual, an observer's position that she could never have imagined. Unfortunately, she didn't see their clothes. She scanned the stones fervently, growing more frustrated by the second.

"Looks like I'm drinking tonight." Madison chuckled. "Shut up," Nan shouted, "I can see the city, but I can't see them." "You're stressing yourself Nan," Myrtle began, "You're overworking yourself. Just relax and breathe. We're not trying to perform the Seven Wonders; we're just trying to find two pieces of clothing." Nana clenched her fingers, and cracked her knuckles. Myrtle was right. She needed to relax, to focus. She tried again. This time the city was clearer to her. She could determine the height of the objects she passed by, whether they were in ruins or a relatively good condition. And yet, where were her targets?

"Scott," Allison carefully set down the box of broken glassware, "I feel terrible." "You're sick?" Allison loved Scott, but sometimes he gave her headaches. "No," she managed to hide her sense of annoyance, "Not literally." He seemed to be aware of his previous blunder, and actually smacked his forehead. "Why?" It was harder than she thought. She needed to confront Scott on this, it was eating her up inside. _Breathe Allison, just breathe_. "Why couldn't we have waited until your watch duty, like we always do?" She could tell that she had caught him off guard. The tents had actually kept them busy this time, and she expected his mind to be distant. Somehow it made it easier on her. "Come on, don't bring this up again." Scott quickly realized where his girlfriend was taking the conversation. "We screwed up, and no, that pun wasn't intended." "We should've just done our jobs. Maybe we would've heard Lydia sooner; maybe we could've heard Misty, maybe-"

"Stop. What's done is done. If we didn't have sex, Misty would've still been attacked. If we managed to get to her, someone probably would've died." Honestly, this thought crossed her mind every time she was struck with guilt. From what they could guess, these were vicious people who have killed before and will kill again. And yet, her guilt was able to counter this argument every time, always using the same antagonistic counter. "But now we have to risk all of our lives to save her. What if she's already dead?" Tears rolled down her cheeks. They'd suffered too much loss already and too often had they not had closure. She didn't know where her mother or father could be were, or if they were even alive.

Scott approached her without saying anything. He embraced her; he held her close, held her tight. He was so warm. She allowed herself to melt in his arms, to for at least a minute let her thoughts drift from nagging guilt. Through it all, he survived, and she survived. They kept each other warm at night, through the worst heartache and the most terrifying hours spent hiding from walkers. "No matter what happens," he spoke softly to her, "You have to know that we tried our hardest to save her." "I know, I know. I don't know why I'm being so emotional." "We just don't want to lose anyone else. We've lost enough of our friends and family already." She tilted her head up and kissed Scott. It was a short peck, all that she could manage. They returned to the search of the tents, but she was tremendously disappointed with herself. She still couldn't tell him.

Once beyond the glass walls of the terminal, the building grew very dark and ominous. The storefronts were decaying, occasionally decorated with corpses, and were gutted for all their worth; who takes the display rack? Their ears were alert for the slightest sound to betray the silence. Every now and then a walker or five had to be taken down, their snarling and shuffling echoing softly through the halls. However, it was the coordinated sounds that placed them on edge. The city didn't have many, if any, survivors left, but just like the bayous, those who stayed were never the kind you'd want to stumble across in the dark.

"So where are we going?" Derek whispered. "Gate 13," Stiles replied, "Or at least the lobby it connects to." "Was it their stronghold?" "In a sense. The infected were executed there, before or after they died and came back. I don't think any guns will be left, but the ammo crates were disguised as useless supply containers." "And you know this how?" "A family friend who served leaked that to us way in the beginning. I don't think anyone else knew about it though." "Let's hope so, because the people who looted this place literally took everything that wasn't bolted down." Derek was on point, and he suddenly stopped in his tracks. Stiles took a stance, and scanned all around them. He didn't hear anything, but hesitation and doubt get you killed. "Derek?" he whispered. "What did you hear?" "Nothing. I can smell it."

_ Smell it? How the fuck?_ Stiles barely had time to think before Derek broke into a light sprint. "Derek!" He rushed after him, barely keeping a following distance between them. There were walkers, more than Stiles expected there to be, but Derek darted around them without paying the undead any mind. Unfortunately, he could not have the same luxury, and was faced with eight hungry corpses shuffling towards him. "Derek, wait!" He banked a corner and was gone. "God dammit!" They were too dense for knife kills, so Stiles was forced to use the remainder of the ammunition in his rifle to mow them down. They were further decayed than most, the bullets making loud squishing sounds amidst the roar of gunfire. It was over in a few seconds, but who knew how much ground Derek had covered? It only took a few seconds for Stiles to lose him. Carefully stepping around the slippery pool of gore, Stiles followed Derek's path. Fortunately he did not go much further once he banked the corner. He stood in front of a lounge, with a burning rage in his eyes. _Wait, are his eyes actually burning?_ Stiles could've sworn he'd seen Derek's eyes glowing with some vibrant shade of red, but in the blink of an eye, his eyes were back to normal. _Not back to normal, they'd have to have change for them to go back to normal._

"Derek," he shouted, "What the fuck man? I had to kill those walkers you ran by, so thanks for that. I used up all of my rifle's ammo, and our position's been given away. Why would you-" "Shut up." Derek snapped. "You should be able to smell it now." "Smell it?" Derek pointed to the lounge, its doors torn from the hinges and dented inwards. Suddenly, some scent did crawl into his nose. It was a scent he'd nearly grown distant from, yet it always managed to stay fresh in his mind. Now, the smell of burnt flesh and hair came softly to him. _But how did he smell it back there?_ "You know what it is, don't you?" asked Derek. "All too well," he replied, "But how did you smell it back there?" "What we need to focus on is the fact that this is a recent burning." Derek didn't even put in much of an effort in dodging the question. Instead, he motioned for Stiles to follow him, and the two cautiously entered the lounge.

"Throw more stones. They're not in the city." Myrtle cast another bowl of stones onto the table, and Nan's arms swung to the new pile.

The inside of the lounge was stained from smoke. Inside it smelt worse than the smoking section of a restaurant. Stiles was surprised that he didn't notice it the moment he walked in. They weren't hidden by any means, and stood out like a candle in the dark.

"She's almost got it," Myrtle whispered to Madison, "And I will drink that bottle and relish it.

Three wooden poles, with burned wood and ash resting beneath them, stood in the center of the room. Each pole had a corpse tied to it, arms bound above their heads and their feet hanging freely. Their bodies were burned to a gruesome crisp, bones shining through their charcoal coating.

"Jesus Christ Derek, what the hell did we stumble on?" "We didn't stumble onto this Stiles." "What do you mean? This is twisted; we have to get the others." "It's too late. They never left." "Who never left?"

"I found them. Myrtle, they're in trouble."


	8. Chapter 8

Heavy and fast footfalls threw Derek into action. He grabbed Stiles by the shoulder and threw both of them behind a bar counter. Their fall was brief and relatively quiet, thanks to Stiles landing on top of Derek. "This was not my intent," said Stiles, "But I can't say I don't enjoy it." "Shut up." Derek tossed Stiles off of him. "Stay quiet and follow my lead, alright?" "It sounds like you know these guys. Do you?" "I know of them. Now, quiet." A loud slam signaled a door flying open from across the room. Derek and Stiles crouched down, faces lying against the floor. "I know I heard gunfire somewhere around here." He sounded mature, maybe somewhere in his mid-forties. "I never said you were lying," the other man sounded half his age, "But I did say we should've cut through the Starbucks. This place gives me the creeps." "I know. These bodies are some freaky shit. We should do something fucked up like that." "They're not the guys." Derek muttered beneath his breath. "What do you mean 'the guys' Derek?" "I mean _this_ is very dangerous. The people I was thinking of would at least question us before gunning us down."

The two men walked close to the bar area. Derek's ears twitched with each footstep, and his blinking sputtered erratically. It reminded Stiles of snapping your fingers near a dog's ears. "No one would hide in here." insisted the youngster. "I sure as fuck wouldn't, what with those charcoal bouquets hanging there." "I guess not. And there are no bullet holes and shit here. We should've cut through Starbucks, now that stench is gonna get stuck in my nose again." Stiles noticed Derek's eyes focusing on his rifle. He quietly tapped Derek's shoulder. "Don't," he whispered, "There's probably others." "I've got some powder," the older one announced, "That'll take this smell right out." "Stop calling it powder," the youngster snapped, "It won't catch on." "Fine you little shit, cocaine. Christ, you're as picky as an old woman. Let's do the lines right here. That bar top is pretty clean."

Lydia's eyes lit up. "Finally," she sighed in relief, "A top that's fashionable and functional." The red tank top was the only decent piece of clothing she could find on the plane, let alone something in her size. Next time she'd search through one of the more high-brow airliners, but she enjoyed the challenge of finding a diamond in the rough. Stripping down to the nude was another layer to the challenge; post-apocalyptic life could sometimes be unbearably mundane. She slipped it over her shoulders, and it hugged her body very comfortably. Carefully, she propped up a mirror she found in one of the other bags. "Blue jeans, cute belt, killer black boots, and this top? Sweet, simple, to the point. I'm the hottest last thing you'll ever see." She scowled. Something was wrong. She pulled her hair back to a pony tail, wrapping a faded and weathered hair tie around it. Stray locks of hair fell gracefully around the sides of her head. "Perfect."

With another loud and obnoxious pairs of snorts, the strangers inhaled another two lines of cocaine. Derek and Stiles had crawled to the far end of the bar, but unfortunately they were met with a dead end. On the other hand, the curvature of the amenity completely hid them from view. They were able to sit up, relax, and think. "This is some fucked up shit." Stiles whispered. "People shoot crazy when they're doped up." "But their accuracy suffers." "But they'll be jumpier too. I'd hate to say it, but we have to kill them." Derek's hand reached for the gun, and once more Stiles had to stop him. "You have the bloodlust." he joked. "I meant quietly. If we can take them out now, we can radio the others and get out before anyone notices." "But there's no way we can have everything we need yet." "We'll worry about that once we're safe. But, a firefight will probably break out no matter what we do."

"Think they'll be mad we used the good shit?" the youngster asked as he wiped his nose clean. "Man, I really don't want Frank to get on my case again." "You're tripping you little shit, that wasn't even the good shit. Shit, you don't even know good shit when you snort it. Shit."

"Word of the day is 'shit,' as it would seem." Derek whispered to Stiles.

"Well I'm wired," the youngster started to pulse in place, "Let's go find those fuckers!"

"I'm going to check in with them," said Allison, "There was a little too much erratic gunfire in that building." "If you say so," Scott replied, "I still think that Stiles knows what he's doing." "Better safe than sorry, right?"

The two men finished laughing hysterically whilst waving their guns in the air. The older one, with dramatic and exaggerated movements, took point, leading his companion out of the lounge. "Finally," Derek whispered, "We can call the others the moment they're-" "Stiles, you there? I heard some gunfire and wanted to check in." Allison might as well have shined a floodlight over Stiles and Derek. The crackle of the transmission coming in would've been plenty for the coked-up, gun-toting men to notice them, but her voice seemed to come in so loudly that even the deaf could've been stirred. Derek tore the radio from Stiles' waist and leapt on top of the counter. The two men screamed and shouted but they were both impaired, their ability to react suffering from the inhuman amount of drugs they'd consumed. Stiles was surprised they didn't ask Derek if he was real.

Derek threw the radio at the older one's head. There was a loud _thunk_, followed by a small stream of blood flowing from the gash in his head. He collapsed in pain gripping his head, while the youngster seemed to be struck dumb with an inability to move. Derek quickly covered the remaining distance, but just as he was within striking distance, the youngster had managed to aim his gun right in line with Derek's temple. He went down faster than the first, courtesy of a thick bottle Stiles threw at him. In truth Stiles was almost certain that he wouldn't have been able to hit him, but luck had shined on him. This time the bottle lead to a louder _crack_, and the boy's body fell limp. "Charles!" This was all the older man could say before Derek disarmed him. As his weapon flew into the air, Derek grabbed both of the man's forearms and jerked his hands down in a quick, arm breaking move. A cry of pain almost came from his mouth before Derek's hands covered half of his face, and before he collapsed. Derek tore off some of his shirt and stuffed it in the man's mouth.

"That was pretty badass," Stiles complimented, "But I hope the radio isn't broken." "There are broken bones," said Derek, "But no broken gear. See?" "Stiles? Dammit, someone answer me." Allison repeated once more. "Are you there?" _Whoops, she was waiting that whole time. Can't believe I managed to tune her out. Alright, that was mean_. "I think you killed the younger one," said Derek, "Or him landing on the brick did it." "Stiles, dammit, answer me!" "Yeah, yeah, yeah," Stiles frantically replied, "We're here." "What's wrong?" "Well, not to put any blame on you, but you called us just as these coke-crazy guys were leaving the lounge we were hiding in." "God dammit, I'm so sorry. Are there more?" "Yes," Derek interrupted, "But two less now. Get Scott and Lydia and head back to the vehicles. We need to regroup so we can fight these guys." "Well how many are there?" "We don't know," Stiles replied, "Just get back and keep point. We'll be there ASAP." "I'm so sorry you two, this is my fault. Don't die on me." "Be watchful for another group of hostiles," Derek added, "Someone burned three people at the stake in here and it wasn't the ones who found us."

"I'm still not very enthusiastic about this arrangement." said Myrtle. "Believe me when I say no one here could care more about Cordelia or be more worried about Queenie than I, but this?" Madison helped Nan fasten a Kevlar vest to her chest, and she clipped the holsters to her thighs. She herself finished her outfit by sliding a pair of long, black gloves over her arms and by tying her hair into a tight ponytail. "We're witches," Nan replied, "If we don't fight, we die. Isn't that how it's always been?" "Most of the time we burned," Madison interjected, "But that was still pretty motivational." "But suppose this place comes under siege?" Myrtle questioned. "I cannot protect myself from human malice." "You've got Spalding." Madison tossed their servant a handgun. He failed to catch the gun or even see it coming, and with what should've been a light tap to the head, Spalding collapsed. "Well shit," Madison continued, "I guess you are fucked if some gun-toting bastards come back here. No offense." "All tensions aside I am concerned for you Madison. You and Nan are powerful witches." "That's why we have to go." Nan declared. "Cordelia is the only reason we're alive. If it wasn't for this school, we'd all be dead. Queenie's my friend. Madison, you two fight, but you know you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you let her die." "That's a little dramatic, but I would feel terrible. At the very least, we entertain each other. At the very greatest, we're sisters."

"Then the most I can do is wish you girls luck." Myrtle motioned for them to come closer to her. Nan came to her in a light jog, while Madison reluctantly walked over. She stretched her arms around the girls and hugged them. "With witches like you, our kind can survive this nightmare. But if you die, we'll be terribly underpowered." "We'll come back," said Nan, "I promise." "I might die right now if you keep smothering us." Madison muttered. Myrtle released them and patted their shoulders. "Stay safe."

"Stay safe you guys," Lydia hurriedly strapped her holsters to her thighs, "I'll be there soon." "No, Lydia, please go the jeeps. We don't know what we're dealing with." "Exactly. I'm getting Scott and Allison and going into the terminal. I know where you two are." "Lydia, don't-" She turned off the radio. Sometimes, you had to cut your losses and run. Sometimes it was better to live another day than to risk lives on what could wait until tomorrow. This wasn't one of those times. Misty was in danger, and even though she didn't know much about him, she wanted to help Derek save his people. Right now they all needed supplies, especially anything that could help them tear through the swampy waters leading to the power plant. Two days was a long time for someone to be kept hostage; people were killed in far less time in the past.

"She's strong-willed." said Derek. "That's not necessarily a bad thing, but right now it could hurt us." "But she's not an idiot," Stiles replied, "She won't make any decisions that could get someone killed." "And you're sure of that?" "She's had a good track record since the world ended. And when you crush on someone for a long time, you make it a point to learn a lot about them. But then there's you, so yeah." Derek rolled his eyes and motioned for Stiles to follow him. Progress was slow, if you could even call it that, but Stiles was determined. Eventually, he knew he could whittle him down. And if worse came to worse, he _could_ try pursuing Lydia. But life was a bit more complicated than The Sims was. _Shit, I miss that game._

"Wait, what about this guy?" Stiles was surprised that he forgot about the hysterical man curled up on the floor. "You snapped his arms, so, what?" Derek huffed, and in a quick motion lifted the man off the ground. He tore the fabric from his mouth and slapped him. "Shout and you die. Now how many of you are there?" "A dozen more, you bastards are gonna pay for killing him!" "I think you broke my rule," said Derek, "But how can I punish you?" In a flash, he turned the man's head almost entirely around. The crack was so loud, and Derek's expression remained calm and collected. The body collapsed into a limp and broken mess on the floor. Derek's actions had Stiles' emotions in a constant roller coaster. It wasn't so much that the act was horrific, he'd executed people himself, but it was the instinct that seemed to drive him without any thought in the manner. No matter though, they had bigger problems. Stiles started to stomp the corpses' faces in. There was no reason to have to kill them again. Derek joined in, and they left after they cleaned the blood from the shoes.

When the door creaked open Cordelia swung her head up, ready to yell her lungs out at Mr. Argent. Instead, a man walked in who couldn't have been more of a cliché for ominous and threatening men you'd see walking down an alley late at night. Cordelia didn't know what to think of him. He was probably here to torture them, but he didn't have any tools with him, and aside from some garbage metal around the room there was nothing he could use. Was he going to beat the information out of them? She wasn't looking forward to any kind of pain, but blunt trauma and force were easier to resist than a knife being wedged underneath your fingernails. She hoped Misty had a strong will, though she didn't exactly fit the image of a girl who could take a beating. Her heart raced as he approached her; she barely noticed that he had been staring at them the whole time she was getting lost in thought.

Just as he was within arm's length of her, he turned towards Misty. "Mr. Argent stepped out," his voice was another stereotype, villainous and unsettling, "So we'll be alone for a while." He faced Misty, but his voice projected for the both of them. "You know the worst thing about the end of the world is that most of the hot girls are dead or trying to kill you." "I'd say the worst thing about this world," Cordelia began, "Is that out of the billions of people who died, it's assholes like you who survived." A forced, painfully artificial laugh was his excuse for a rebuttal. "Well I can tell you one thing lady." he continued. "You're not exactly my cup of tea, but her?" He pointed at Misty, who squirmed in her chains. The dark reality of the situation dawned on them simultaneously.

"Don't you dare!" Misty shouted as he approached her. "Get the fuck away from me!" "Quiet," his belt slid from his waist, his shirt was cast off and thrown across the room, "You're a lot hotter when you're quiet." "Don't touch her!" Cordelia shouted hysterically. "Don't you fucking touch her you monster!" The chains rattled when he grabbed Misty's face, and she spat into his eye. He smacked her, leaving a painful, bright red mark on her cheek. "If you want it to be rough, don't worry." His free hand was making quick work of peeling his pants off. He stood before her completely naked; his face inched unbearably close to Misty. She tried to turn her face away, and she could see Cordelia squirming. She was trying to break free from her chains, trying to save her from this man. But this was truly hell now, and there was no salvation.

He released her face, and for a moment simply stared at her. The look in his eyes made Misty nauseous; she could tell he was considering what to do with her. His face rushed into her, an invasive tongue sliding over her clenched lips. His hands gripped her neck and choked her, forcing her to open her mouth. She had no choice, and when she did gasp for air she was soon gagging on his advances. There was some terrible taste in his mouth, staining her tongue and driving her mad. She tried to separate herself from the situation, tried to let her mind escape her body's torment. When she came close, the rapacious grip on her neck forced her back. He released her, though she had no idea how long he had been gripping her. In a swift motion with both of his hands he tore the top of Misty's outfit from her body. The chains hurt her as they struck and rattled against her breasts, and the metal was terribly cold. She started to cry, and she desperately tried to loosen her chains. Even if she could only kick him before he continued she could go on knowing she _did_ fight him. Otherwise, the spit that still surrounded his eye would be the fullest extent of her struggle. "No matter how much you struggle, it's all for nothing. Actually, go ahead with it, what with your tits bouncing around and shit. It's kind of hot. Really gets me going."

He buried his face in her chest, his warm and moist tongue flickering like a snake against her skin. She continued to cry and beg, in harmony with Cordelia, as he slid down her chest. His tongue left a glimmering trail on her body, and a feeling she wished she could scrub away. Her body forced her to cry for help, but the only reply to this hopeless call was laughter. This time though it was a genuine one, a cocktail of sadism and amusement. "No one's gonna help you. This is the most loving you'll get before you die." She felt the elastic band of her skirt slide down to her feet, where the man let it hand by her toes. His started grabbing her, one hand painfully clenching her butt and the other rubbing the outside of her underwear. His fingernails were gnarled and they clipped her skin above and below the waist. She could feel blood trickling from her left breast, and his palm was on the brink of burning her vagina.

He released her breast, and both hands gripped a side of her underwear. "Please don't do this." Her vision was terribly obscured from tears. "You don't think they'll punish you?" "The thing is, I'm one of them. Don't think I'm the only one who wants to do this. I'm the first of seven." _Seven_. This wasn't something she could even try to escape anymore. Rape after rape, after rape, after rape, after rape, after rape, after rape. She was going to die, but not before she was sufficiently violated and tormented. For a brief second she felt furiously envious of Cordelia. She wasn't _that _much older than her, and she certainly wasn't ugly. Why her? Why did she have to be the one who suffered? Why did she get targeted again?

He slid her underwear down and over her feet. She was suspended in the air, completely naked and powerless. _Sweetie, don't worry. Daddy loves you_.

_Don't do this!_ she thought to herself. _I do not want to remember him!_

The man crammed two fingers into her vagina. She screamed in pain, his nails pinching and tearing her insides. But the worst part was the ecstasy that shined through the pain. He knew what he was doing; he knew _how_ to make her feel aroused, no matter how traumatic this was.

_You'll be a whore if you tell anyone, and you'll go to hell. You don't want to go to hell, do you?_

He ripped his fingers out, and she could feel tearing in uncanny clarity. She felt something else slide inside of her, rushing in with incredibly pressure and bringing new painful ecstasy.

_"Daddy loves you."_

She awoke with a panicked gasp and cough. "Misty," Cordleia called, "Misty, are you alright?" She quickly looked at her body. Her clothes were intact, her face didn't sting, and her vagina didn't feel like it was full of paper cuts. She was overwhelmed with both joy and terror. She rejoiced that her rape had not taken place, but she was furious and terrified that this dream had resurfaced, and that it was so lucid and set in the present. "Why're you crying Misty?" _Crying? _She barely noticed how wet her cheeks were, how the water in her eyes warped the light of the room. "Cordelia," she uttered, "I had the most terrible dream."

"Tell me."


	9. Chapter 9

"Then he said, '_Daddy loves you.'_"

It was painful to recall these details to Cordelia. It was too vivid, too familiar, too, invasive. Misty always wondered why one's thoughts could be so cruel and self-damaging. She always thought of it as the leftover dominance of some oppressive force. It wasn't hard to believe. You wouldn't willingly bring this kind of harm to your psyche; it had to be the wickedness of the world that enters your life that scars you. Sometimes the scars would eventually go away. Other times, they stayed with you to the day you died. Misty wasn't sure of the extent of the scars her father left on her mind yet. All she knew was that they were always enough to make her cry.

"Misty, I'm so sorry. That you were burned is enough of a travesty. This? This is inexcusable." "At least he's dead. If I even thought he was still walking around this world I would hunt him down. Good thing I took care of that in the beginning." This whole conversation was dark, but this struck a new cord. Cordelia was the first person she admitted her father's death to, and even then, it wasn't a direct confession. "You killed your father?" Misty wasn't sure what Cordelia thought of her right now. Although, even if she hated her, it wouldn't make things any worse. "Yes," she replied, "I killed him. I, stabbed him with a knife over and over, and then I dragged him outside. Technically the walkers killed him, but, I assume responsibility."

"I don't blame you." said Cordelia. "I hated my mother too, though I'm assuming she's dead." At least she wasn't mad at her. "But Misty, you said you hadn't been troubled by all of this in almost half a year?" "Yeah. It's really strange, being trapped in here must be more stress than I can handle." "It may be more than that. Do you know what a Supreme is?" _A Supreme?_ "Um, I know that supreme pretty much means you're the greatest, like the biggest hotshot there is." Cordelia smiled. It was weak, and difficult to maintain, but Misty's response was legitimately amusing. "You're close." she began. "Amongst witches, the title of Supreme is given to the witch who manages to perform the Seven Wonders. These feats of magic cannot all be performed by any witch, though a talented witch could perform six of the seven. The act of performing all seven makes that witch an embodiment of all that the coven stands for."

Misty chuckled. "Wow, that's a lot to take in. Why're you asking me that, or, telling me that?" "Because in times of crisis, there are strong signs that a Supreme is rising. Your emotions being stirred up could be the first sign of your rise." "You think I'm this, Supreme? I'm just some swamp girl who got lucky." "That couldn't be further from the truth. You have the power of resurgence, the power to restore life. It's one of the most powerful gifts a witch can possess. And whether or not you are the Supreme, your powers are going to grow." "How do you figure?" "Times of crisis. Witches can manifest additional powers when their existence is in jeopardy, and right now, it's as real as it gets."

Misty wasn't sure what to think of all this. She didn't doubt a word Cordelia was saying. She was a wise woman, a wise witch, who'd been around longer than she has. But, to be the strongest witch alive? Could that even be possible?

"Let's have a test right now." Cordelia declared. "One of the simpler ones. Telekinesis." "You want me to untie us?" "No, that'd be too difficult, even if that was the gift you were born with." Cordelia searched the room for something lightweight, something easy to manipulate. There was a wrench some ten feet away from them. It was red, a color that stood out against the darkness of the room and was easy to concentrate on. "That wrench," she announced, "I want you to lift it off the ground." "But what if I can't do it?" "Then you're not the next Supreme. If you can, you still might not be. But at the very least we have something to work with." There was nothing to lose, and no one to mock her if she failed.

She drew a couple of deep breaths, and did her best to clear her mind. She stared at the wrench. Right now, it was the only thing that mattered. It was an inert, dumb piece of metal, and she was a witch. She was powerful, she hoped, and she could manipulate the world around her. Though the virus assured death amongst men, any other creature can breathe air if she so desires. And now, now this tool would obey her will as well. She could feel something resonating in her head. It was a force of some kind, something she could feel extending from her forehead. Before she knew it, the wrench was floating at eye level with her. "I did it!" she exclaimed. "I really did it!"

"I told you I could do it." Madison stood proudly with her hands on her hips. "I own the mind game." The walkers which had been pursuing them were now impaled on every fence post and street light or sign in sight. Most were still growling and making weak efforts to attack the two girls. However, Madison managed to have some level of accuracy by driving the heads of two of the undead through a crooked pole and a fence post jutting out form the rest of its kind. "It's much quieter than a gun," said Nan, "But they're not all dead." "But they will be soon enough. Now, why did we come here? Didn't you say there were at the nuclear plant? By the way, we are very lucky it never had a meltdown or whatever."

"That's an understatement. But, when I was searching through the city, I noticed that the river is actually a lot easier to navigate down than the city." Madison noticed the sign above one of the shops ahead of them. The brand of the merchandise was illegible, but the text specifying "Boating Goods & Supplies" was all that she needed. "I'd call myself stupid for not thinking of that," said Madison, "But that's about as likely as these walking corpses learning to love again." "Try to be a little serious Madison. We could all die if we're not careful." Nan motioned for Madison to follow her, and she started towards the boating shop.

"I'm not stupid." Madison began, "I know what's at stake here." "Then why do you never act appropriately?" "I didn't before the world ended, why should I start now?" With the flick of her wrist, a walker a Nan had just set her sights on was thrown across the street. "Because it's frustrating." Nan replied. "You could at least try to pretend you don't hate us." It became uncomfortably silent between the two of them, a silence that lasted until they reached the entrance to the shop. The door was barricaded, so Madison came forward. It was difficult exerting her influence over it. An absurd amount of nails had gone into closing it up, and it was reinforced with a metallic skeleton. They both knew something terrible could be waiting for them inside; Nan kept her weapon aimed at the door.

It didn't fly off the hinges. Instead, Madison only managed to bend it inwards enough for the two of them to crawl over. "I don't hate you guys," she whispered to Nan, "This is just the way I am, and you've got to accept that." "Sorry if I prefer nice people." "I already told you what happens to nice people." "You can be nice and strong Madison." "Of course you can, just like you can find a mammoth in a glacier. But, how often does either of those happen?"

"Not often," Allison replied, "But we always lose someone when things like this happen." "Look," said Lydia, "Time is not on our side, but that's hardly anything new, is it? We need to get to Misty as soon as possible. If we retreat now, it's just delaying the inevitable battle we'll have with these fuckers. If we're losing time, let's at least make it count." She wasn't frustrated at Allison's hesitation, but she wanted to prove a point. She forced the rifle into Allison's hands, wrapping her fingers around the trigger and barrel. "If we don't fight, our chances of saving Misty, and Derek's people, get worse." "And on that subject," Scott interrupted, "I'm starting to wonder if-" "Later." Lydia snapped. "Right now, we have some human bastards to take care of. This way."

"This way Stiles." Derek carefully led Stiles through the maze of discarded luggage, their bags, their corpses, and the overturned dollies. Other hostiles had already appeared, three to be precise, all equipped with serious firepower and faces ravaged by the world and drugs. "We have to find cover." "We could go for the muffin kiosk," Stiles suggested, "But there's no way we can get to it without going into the open." "Take point then, you're smaller and lighter on your feet." He wasn't wrong, but Stiles wasn't thrilled about having to go out there and potentially face them. Then again, what choice did they have? Of course there had to be something that would draw their attention, something to occupy all their eyes at once. "Distract them," Stiles silently ordered, "Do something that'll avert their eyes long enough for me to have a chance at getting to the kiosk." Derek's eyes scanned the area. There was plenty around them for a clichéd "throw the rock near the guard," but the opportunity to do so was a different matter.

Through pure chance, both were handled in a single, swift motion. An overhead sign on the far end of the room came unhinged, falling to the ground with a tremendous, echoing smash. As the men jerked their heads around, Stiles darted out of the luggage. By the time they started to laugh at the source of the smash, Stiles had dove into the kiosk.

His landing was softened, this time by the two corpses sprawled across the floor. They both had bullet holes in their heads, so Stiles wouldn't have to worry himself with killing them silently. "These fucking places." One of the men was shouting. "When shit falls, it's like an elephant fell off a roof." "That's the blow talking man, it wasn't that loud." "Loud enough to fool you," Stiles whispered to himself, "I can't wait to take you down." Bloodlust? Maybe. The other two he killed with Derek got his blood pumping, and their kind had always taken, from others and from them personally. You can never expect everyone to make it, but you never want the day to come where both the living and the undead are your enemy. That day came long ago.

The goons continued to chat amongst each other, and Stiles took advantage of their distraction. He propped a corpse up against one of the display racks. At some time prior to this engagement it had been cracked open, a serious flaw in the value of this hiding place. Luckily, the corpse shielded him, blocked him from their view, and allowed him to aim his weapon without being easily detected. The stench was powerful, but it was not the worse he had ever experienced. Lydia's gore coat could easily overpower this one. Something suddenly dawned on him: Derek hadn't followed him. He peaked back to the luggage, and Derek was moving _away_ from the kiosk and hostiles. Granted they hadn't thought of a real plan before acting, Stiles still didn't find the idea of their newfound muscle getting further away from him. He wasn't even looking back at Stiles, his eyes swept back and forth from the goons to the hallway feeding into the shops. He wouldn't leave him, would he? Then again, he was still essentially a stranger. But he had a group. Or did he?

This wasn't the time for those thoughts though. There were people in this room that would kill him in heartbeat, and he had to take them out first. He had to make it; they all had to, to save Misty. The goons had started searching again. One of them, the biggest of the group, was distanced the furthest from the others. It wouldn't be a perfect shot, but a bullet through the head is a bullet through the head. Waiting for him to stay still was another missing piece of the puzzle. He was, restless, twitchy. _Is every one of these guys high? _They were by no means the most logical or practical enemies they'd face. _Maybe if Derek could get a clear shot._

He was gone. Derek was nowhere to be seen. "Goddammit. Where the fuck did you go?" "Anything over there?" Stiles nearly squealed. Somehow one of the goons had gotten incredibly close to the kiosk, and he was getting closer. His footsteps were loud, each landing dragging Stiles' heart rate higher and higher. The big one could no longer be his target, but there was no way he could quietly reposition himself. He was getting closer; his footsteps were almost right in his ears. He couldn't take a shot at him, but he could hide. Well, technically hide.

He quietly slid the weapon beneath his torso, and he inched himself back. He left the body propped up on the broken glass and slid underneath it. Hiding his entire person would be impossible, but hopefully it would be enough to fool them. He already decided that they were not very wise or tactical; it was the automatic weapons and numbers that made them lethal. That and the possibility of a cocaine-induced rampage.

There was a loud slam on the counter. "I'll take a blueberry and a banana-nut!" His sarcastic order was followed by a laughable excuse for forced laughter. "Hey, you fuckheads dead or something?" "Shut the fuck up you dumbass," one of his group shouted from across the room, "How are we supposed to hear anything with you doing that?" "Lighten up," he replied, "This shit is boring." He leapt over the counter, landing on one of Stiles' feet. It took every ounce of willpower _not_ to do so much as a flinch towards the pain. "Shit, these fuckers stink. Let's see if they have any good loot."

"Are you sure you're ready Misty?" One of Mr. Argent' men had entered the room. Misty was relieved that he was not the one that appeared in her dream, but he was far from what she would consider a pleasant sight. Cordelia whispered as softly as she could, though whether their plan succeeded or failed, it wouldn't matter if he heard everything. "I am," she replied, "I'm done being a prisoner." "Too bad," the man interrupted, "Because I was going to upgrade your room." "To what?" Misty snapped. "You gonna put us up in some, Hilton penthouse with armed guards and gasoline?" "Not exactly." No laugh? Not even a fake one? For someone who opened with a joke, he seemed very dry. "It's some kind of storage closet, maybe twenty feet by twenty feet. We're moving you and the troughs there for when your friends come. It's easier to drown them in a small room, you know?"

_Smack_. His arm rose, landing a fierce blow on his own face. He was surprised to say the least, his eyes a pair of wide milky globes. Cordelia spotted a huge grin forming on Misty's face, her eyes lighting up with joy and wrath. She'd seen a similar look in her mother's eyes, but fortunately this sweet swamp girl was far from anything Fiona was. "You cunt." he barked. "If you don't let me go I'll-" Another smack. This time a bright red handprint was left on his face. "You'll what?" Cordelia finished for him. "You'll smack yourself again? Concilium performed successfully, Misty Day. Let's see what we can do with that."

"Score!" _Great, another one of my guns gone_. "First a pistol and now this baby?" "What'd you find?" Another one of the goons had joined him at the kiosk. "Some guns on one of the bodies." "He must've been a recent one then. These other fuckers were employees." "Wonder how he but the dust. He seems kind of fresh." "I don't see anything on his legs or back. Drag him out and flip him over."

_This is it, this is how I die. There's no one here to help me, and Derek left me. Please, just, just let Misty be alright._ He felt their arms grab his legs. "He's still firm. His blood will probably still be red." _Please, don't let the others die. It would've been hard enough for the five, no, the four of us to save here._ He was slid out from under the body. He kept as motionless as his body would allow. "I don't think he's dead." "Unconscious then. But he's not a girl, so I don't see any use in him." "Hey, I'd take a whack at him." They flipped him over, and Stiles shut his eyes. At the very least, if they _did_ take him away so one of them could rape him, he'd at least have a chance at escaping.

"Hell yeah, we're taking this back with us." "He had some firepower though; he's probably one of the fuckers who killed our boys." "Hey, you guys got to keep a girl who cut Josh's dick off _after_ she shot Cory and Jonathan in the face. I haven't got it in in months, I'm taking it back."

_Boom!_


	10. Chapter 10

_Boom!_

It was an incredible spectacle of blood and gore. He'd seen it happen countless times before, but almost always on a body that had already been dead, and never at such a close range. The bullet seemed to have entered his skull somewhere around the temple. His eyes were expelled from their sockets, the bullet warping and dismembering the front of his face. The body went limp in an instant, the same instant an identical _boom_ rang out for the accomplice. As the first of his aggressors was already collapsing upon him, Stiles only witnessed the beginning of the second scene, the entire front of his face being torn away by the bullet's wrath.

"What the fuck was that?!" Immediately following the deaths of the two men before him, a roaring wave of bullets flew over Stiles. He heard Lydia begin issuing commands, duck and cover and such, though what he hoped was them planning their next move was drowned out by the gunfire. It sounded like three more had joined the enemy's side. Their force was small, but the new arrivals seemed to be packing some heavy heat. One of them definitely had a Gatling gun. At the moment it was terrifying, for all those guns to be aimed at him and his friends, but Stiles was eager to get his hands on them. They would be running low on ammo after this fight was finished, but new additions to the arsenal would make it worth the effort. As long as no one died.

"Allison, fire at the overhead lights. Give them something to panic about. Scott, fuck the controlled bursts and make them dance. Derek," she shoved the sniper rifle into his hands, "Pick a target and take him down!" _Shit. Why did they have to take that hallway? It would've been easier if Stiles was dead. He's a bad distraction, one that we can't afford right now. And, I think Marie was right. These people seem like the lot that would defend a witch if she revealed herself. They'll be better off dead, I guess._ Derek zoned out in the firefight, not even realizing that he had slain three of the attackers. He could tell they were his kills because of the massive holes torn into their chests. The last enemy in the room was still attacking, his sense of awareness seemingly hindered. As he aimed the rifle, his eye staring intently through the scope, a barrage of bullets brought him down.

He turned to see Stiles upper body peeking over the counter of the kiosk, his gun smoking from recent gunfire. There was blood splattered on his face, not his own unfortunately. Bullets on the floor, blood pools fresh and warm, the firefight was done. They were unharmed, if perhaps severely low on bullets, and that was enough of a relief for the group. "You're lucky Stiles," Lydia called out, "Because if Derek hadn't found us, I don't think we would've gotten here in time." Stiles leapt from the kiosk, holding his weapon and those of the dead men at his feet. "I knew you didn't ditch me," Stiles said to Derek, "But I was still pretty nervous. I was going to be their trophy wife." Scot snickered. "You seem to have gotten over that pretty quickly." "Well they weren't the ugliest guys ever. I mean, they were coked up, and now their faces look like red Jell-O, but I've seen worse."

"I would still do him," Madison sarcastically replied, "I mean, the Jell-O face is kind of sexy." Nan poked the gory soup with a stick. "Why did you keep hitting him?" "Because witch hunters deserve far worse. I mean, come on. Did they really think they could kill a major celebrity and get away with it?" "Well the world ended, so you don't have that status anymore." "No but I sure as fuck still have the killer looks. And speaking of killer?" Madison motioned her head towards one of the bodies near Nan's feet. His arms were slowly pulling his body along, fingers stretching out to his shotgun. "We didn't finish that one." "And we won't yet," Nan asserted as she slammed her foot on the man's back, "We need him to talk." "Or at least think," Madison joked, "And then it won't matter if he wants to spill it or not."

"He's already giving me details," said Nan, "And they're not good." "Goddammit," he muttered, "I hate you freaks." "We're not too fond of you either honey," Madison snapped, "But our track record is a lot less severe than yours. Mine is just lots of sex and drinking. And one murder. But he totally deserved it." "I'm trying to listen," Nan interrupted, "Could you at least talk a little softer?" "Fine," Madison replied in a whisper, "But only because I actually do want us to get these fuckers." "You know what?" shouted their captive. "I'll just let you know exactly what you're getting into." Madison pushed her way past Nan. She crouched next to the man's face, grabbing the discarded shotgun and pressing the barrel against his forehead. "I really do appreciate it," she began, "And as a reward, I'll make sure your death is quick. And, I'm pretty sure this'll be painless." "Well that's more than what you'll have." His voice was filled with some kind of burning energy, angry and vengeful. "I only wish I could see them burn you."

Madison pumped the shotgun. "How many of you are there?" "Eighteen at the plant and five more are out in the New Orleans Territory." "Shit, good thing I like a challenge. I'll burn them just for you honey." "You can kill him if you want," Nan interrupted, "He was thinking of everything he was going to say to us." "Goddammit," he muttered once more, "Just get it over with." "Your choice big boy, but I've gotta say, those aren't the last words I would've picked." Without any amount of hesitation, Madison pulled the trigger. His head was immediately and completely blown away, splattering gore all around them. "Now what did he tell you?" Madison didn't skip a beat. "We need to move fast." "Plenty," Nan quickly replied, "And you're right, we don't have much time."

"There are probably more of them," said Allison, "But I don't think we have the time to continue this." "We don't," Stiles agreed, "This was enough of a setback. The only thing we got out of it was some heavy weapons." "And the airport had some ammunition," Derek added, "So we shouldn't be in too much of a rut as far as bullets go." Stiles gave Derek a concerned expression. He wanted them to tell the others about the crucified and charred corpses. But was it worth it? For them to worry about a different flavor of psychopaths? It probably was. Stiles had the feeling that Derek had some insight into what was going on, which seemed to go far beyond a simple kidnapping. Given the circumstances that ended the world, was magic so hard to believe in? Of course, the outbreak was a disease. How does one rationally explain magic?

"Stiles and I found something," Derek began, "Something I think would concern all of us." _Thank god_, Stiles thought, _I'm glad he's taking the initiative._ "Does it have to do with the guys we killed?" Scott asked. "No, it's something far worse." There was a brief pause, a period of uncomfortable silence. "We don't have time for a distraction." said Lydia. "But this doesn't sound like a distraction. Scott and Allison, watch our packs. We'll take the guns with us. Where are we going Derek?" "Follow me." Magic or not, Stiles was glad that Derek had joined up with them. It would be a while before he could break down the walls Derek had raised, but he had confidence that it would be worth it. Personal feelings aside, the extra muscle was a serious bonus. Literally, it was _a lot_ of extra muscle for the group.

After living in such a cruel world for such a long time, there weren't too many things that could genuinely surprise or shock someone. Sure, there were some gruesome events here and there that would shake even the strongest of individuals, but it was always some sick variant of what had already been played out time and time again. These corpses, latched to crucifixes and burned as black as the nighttime veil, landed in this category. However, the sight of them was enough to disturb the group beyond a refreshed sense of horror. Their faces were hard to recognize, but they all shared a common feature. Each mouth was wide open.

"We've seen burned bodies before," said Scott, "But it was never anything this extreme." "This was definitely worth our time." Lydia added. "Do either of you know anything about who did this?" _Derek? Please don't hold back now_.

_Wolf, tell them everything. I can feel what they're doing to you, and I know they'll be trouble afterwards. I can't give you freedom if these kids'll be starting hurricanes in your heart._

"I do." Derek announced_._ "But you should know that this shit right here has been going on since before the world ended." "It reminds me of the Salem Witch Trials," said Allison, "Or some twisted version of the Crucifixion." "Funny you should mention that, since both of those are related to these three. The people who did this call themselves hunters, and shit like this has been going on since _before_ the time of Salem. It's some weird holy mission that a bunch of people took up, though with the change of times, religion stopped being such a major qualifier. Now all you need is irrational hate to join them." "Hunters of what?" asked Lydia. "Does it have something to do with blondes?" "No, but witches do tend to land more on the blonde end as far as looks go." Allison and Scott scoffed. "Witches?" Allison was almost laughing. "You mean these deranged bastards are the same deranged bastards who burned, 'witches' back in Salem?"

"Yes." Derek was not amused by Allison and Scott. "I almost wish I was in your shoes, not being so aware of how dangerous and serious these people are." "I didn't say they weren't dangerous," Allison quickly replied, "I laughed because it's crazy that out of every possible reason for someone to justify their murder, they chose 'Burn the witch!'" "How do they even decide who is and isn't a witch?" asked Lydia. "Do they trace the bloodlines from Salem or something?" "Yes actually." Derek was visibly surprised. "And, for now at least, please _humor_ the thought that witches aren't made up. They're not the Hollywood hags that you see poisoning apples. They're regular people. Physically."

"But that would mean Misty's a witch," said Allison, "And, I, that's impossible." "In a world were the dead come back to life?" "From a virus." "Maybe we should believe it," Stiles interjected, "Or at least pretend that we do. It'll be a lot easier if for now we take it as fact." "I agree." said Lydia. "I don't know if I can believe it without seeing some proof, but if we don't at least pretend we'll keep wasting time trying to convince ourselves that it's all real." "Good," Derek resumed, "Because it isn't just witches they hunt. They hunt a huge variety of supernatural beings, from werewolves to vampires." "Jesus Christ," said Scott, "This is nuts."

"Remember," said Lydia, "For the next two days, this is all real. After that we can laugh and scoff all we want. Derek, how does this affect our mission?" "They've got actual combat training, and their prey is clever and slippery. They don't fool easily, and they expect their enemies to be clever and cautious." "We could charge straight in." Scott suggested. "At the very least it'll be different than what they're used to facing." "That could work, but we would need to move fast." "And we don't know how many of them there are," Stiles noted, "So we might be getting ourselves up the creek without a paddle." "Which would mean someone is more likely to be killed," Lydia added, "And that is the last thing we need." "There's no easy way to go about this." said Derek. "But, I do think we should shock them with a full force attack."

"We do have the Gatling gun," said Stiles, "Also known as the spray and pray." "But do we have the bullets to pull this off?" Allison asked. "We need enough firepower to catch them off guard and finish them quickly." "Too bad we're out of explosives. If we even had one good bomb this would all be a hell of a lot easier." "But in a nuclear plant? I feel like that's asking for trouble." "Relatively speaking it should be pretty safe," said Lydia, "So I don't think a reactor explosion should be of any worry to us." "We're going in circles already." said Scott. "It's the best idea, but we don't have the best tools to do it. We should think of something else, or at least see if we can put a spin on the plan we already have."

"We can finish this conversation on the road." Lydia interjected. "We know that we have a tough enemy to fight, and we also know that we're pressed for time. So, let's ride."

"Easy Misty." The guard's eyes were quivering, pupils expanding and contracting as fast as his breaths came and went. "We can't have him dead, at least not yet." "This is actually easier than I thought it would be." He drew a key from his pocket. Of course, his actions were not the result of his own choices, but he moved as though they were. Aside from his breathing and his eye movement, his movements were smooth and natural. Misty was a natural in the art of concilium, a strong sign that she could be the next Supreme. Cordelia watched with eager eyes as the key defeated lock after lock, chains hovering just inches above the ground; she had to hold her weight, since Misty was doing most of the work right now. It was strange though, that her telekinesis was so powerful. Then again, it wasn't unusual at all. Times of crisis can bring out the powers of any witch.

The final chain came undone, and all that remained were the harnesses, something Misty was easily able to free herself from. "Now her." At Misty's command, the guard repeated his actions. "But, how are we going to get out of here now?" "We fight Misty. When witches don't fight, we die." _Fight_. It wasn't such a strange concept to Misty. The world demanded survivors to take up arms against the living dead, to fight for their lives or be consumed by the world's resident evil. But, most of the time the fighting was easy. A corpse couldn't shoot a gun, it couldn't strategize, and it didn't have malice. These people were different. The prospect of having to fight them was terrifying. And with only a single other person fighting with her. She was already more powerful than she could've hoped, but would it be enough?

Cordelia released the final strap of her harness. "I'm free," she whispered to Misty, "Take him down." "How?" "Have him suffocate himself." Misty was visibly conflicted. However, Cordelia knew they didn't have the time to deal with this. "You can hate yourself later. This is survival, our survival, and we can't afford to waste any time." She was right. She was absolutely right. She didn't want to do something so barbaric, but she didn't have a choice. She had the guard wrap his hands around his throat. She had his squeeze so tight that he veins seemed ready to burst from beneath his skin. His eyes bulged, and she silenced his gag. She didn't want him to make it any harder on her. Fortunately, it didn't take long. He went under, though she could tell that life had not yet left his body.

"Well done," Cordelia congratulated, "It's that strength that will help us see this through to the end. Can you see this through to the end?" "You mean, kill him?" Cordelia laughed. "No dear, I mean this fight, the one we've started." Misty sighed in relief. "Thank god, I thought you were becoming a stone cold killer. I think I can fight. No, I know I can fight." "That's what I wanted to hear. Let's take his weapon." Unfortunately, he didn't have a firearm, but he did have a formidable Taser at his side. Two in fact. If they managed to land a hit on two more guards, they could have a real chance at acquiring some real weapons.

"Queenie's still sedated." Queenie had remained on the floor, though she was more heavily bound than any of the others. "I'm not sure we can save her right now." "But she was with you Cordelia, wasn't she?" "Yes, and I would give my life for her or any of my other charges. But, we need to move now or we may all die. If we can defeat them, we can safely retrieve her, alright?" Misty nodded. Cordelia seemed to be thinking pretty clearly, and as of yet she found no fault in her plans. Cordelia took point, carefully making her way across the room. She turned off the lights; there was no reason for this to be any more difficult than it already was. The room was completely dark, and she could feel Misty gripping her blouse. She felt along the wall for the door handle, which she was quickly able to grasp on to. "When I open this," she began, "Don't hesitate, no matter what. Alright?" "I don't want to die here. I'll do whatever it takes." Cordelia drew a sharp breath, and the door swung open.


	11. Chapter 11

Linked; Convergence;

The door slammed with a deafening _bang!_ against the wall. Cordelia jumped back, her hand having not even touched the handle yet. Two men she had probably seen before barreled in, though apparently not with the knowledge that their cohort had been incapacitated. This ignorance, their inability to prepare for the wrath of two witches, was their downfall. Cordelia ducked, and Misty propelled the men across the room. Their thud and that of the door closing were synonymous and melodious, brute force and mental willpower singing the same note. As she approached their new enemies, Cordelia considered how long this room could serve as bait for their assailants. But how long would it be until Queenie could fend for herself?

A concern for another time. Right now, they had business to attend to, to disarm with the flick of their wrists. The men seemed in awe of their power, which was almost laughably ironic. Did the witch hunters quake so easily at the sight of a supernatural being; did they really think that _this_ was a real display of power? The Tasers renders them immobile and twitching in pain, and this time, Cordelia took the role of executioner. It was haunting at how easy it had already become to slay another human. No reason in worrying though, hesitation and reflection never did any good for anyone. Their deaths were quick, which was already more than they deserved.

These two had better armament, a shotgun and a magnum, the latter having a strange aura to it. Misty pointed it out, and Cordelia quickly deduced the cause. "They're using augmented bullets," she said, "Something more powerful than a blessing." "Can we still use them?" "Of course, but don't let a bullet hit you. I'm not sure what it is that they've laced it with, but it's dangerous." "We might die when this happens. We can't bring back dead people, the virus keeps us dead." "We won't die. If we do, then it's only prolonging the inevitable that they set forth. Now we've talked enough, let's move. They've beaten me pretty awfully, worse than you, so I need you to be an extension of my senses."

The engine of the car roared, and Madison released a small shriek of joy. "I continue to be the greatest." she proudly proclaimed. "I honestly wasn't sure of it at first, but now I hate myself for doubting." "It's a nice ride," Nan commented, "But any car could get us to that country club faster than walking." "Exactly. So, let's ride."

"Let's stop here." Lydia suggested over the radio. "We need to plan our route and eat." "Is it noon already?" Allison butted in. "Shit, talk about traffic hour." "If we didn't have to worry about our ammunition," Lydia resumed, "We could've moved a lot faster. Unfortunately, this city is evil and I'm certain it is actively trying to make our lives harder." "That's not too hard to believe," Stiles chimed in, "Especially with these other developments." "You still doubt me?" Derek asked. "What reason would I have to trick you?" "It's hard to believe," Lydia replied, "Despite everything the world's been through. And I hate to say it, but if I could see some form of what could pass as proof I'd probably come around on this whole thing."

The undead were no longer in sight. They pulled over and set up their temporary camp. Scott and Allison took the first watch, and the other three sat around a map of the city. It represented the pre-apocalyptic geography and demographic makeup of the New Orleans area, but the group had extensively scribbled over it to accurately reflect the region's current layout. "Alright," Lydia began, "There's no easy way to reach the bank of the Mississippi without going further into the city." "How much further?" Derek asked. "Will we be able to make our deadline?" "We should be able to, but we'll need to drive to the Colonial Golf and Country Club." "That won't be an easy drive," Stiles added, "But I guess it'll be worth it." "It will be." Lydia insisted. "If we tried the more direct route then we'd be passing through some serious areas of overgrowth, areas that I'm sure are infested with walkers." "I don't want another scare," said Stiles, "I've had enough of the walkers today." Stiles glanced at Derek, who had a stern look in his eyes. _Another scare_. _Well, stop being so paranoid man. They don't have any reason to think that you were bitten. Calm your tits. _"I hear that," Lydia replied, "I want to avoid any direct confrontations. Yesterday was my scare day." _See? _Stiles stuck his tongue out at Derek. _Calm down. _"Let's take a two hour break." Lydia declared. "I really need to rest, to soak all of this in. And, on the off chance that we make it to the power plant today, I want to be well rested." "I'll get the Campbell's and the buds on burner." said Stiles. "We have fruit, right? I don't want to get scurvy."

_As the sun rises into the sky and leans into the afternoon, new shadows are cast upon the city. The ruins are hauntingly beautiful, the green of the Earth creeping up their walls. Madison and Nan drive through the hazardous streets and avenues. The undead seen to be clumped up on the other side of the city, though there are great numbers of them within eyeshot. She drives cautiously but quickly, not wanting to make a noisy scene or give the undead enough time to comprehend their presence. Nan is on edge. While the city wasn't a place for humans, raiders and other dangerously deranged individuals could be lurking within the darkened hallways of the shops, homes, and businesses._

_Cordelia and Misty did not make it very far. The only reason the women survived is because the hunters want to use them as bait. They were not gentle, however, in apprehending them. Cordelia heard and felt her arm snap, and Misty was shot with so many darts Cordelia was currently very concerned that she would never wake up. They were not brought back to the same cell. Instead, along with Queenie, they were all locked inside a very small closet and were bound and gagged. Mr. Argent showed himself only once, right before he slammed the closet door shut. _"Next time we won't let you live. So just stay here and do your job: stay alive long enough for the voodoo bitch and the other witches to come here." _Just what the hell was going on? Could Marie really be alive? And after them?_

_The two hours slowly crept by, for everyone. Stiles and his friends talked through all of it, most of it being arguments with Derek about the existence of witches. Cordelia lost consciousness, the first real sleep she would probably have until her death. It wasn't a comforting thought, but nothing could comfort her at this point. Madison and Nan were so close to their destination when they were given a rather irritating reminder. These streets were not the same streets the world once knew. A year of turmoil had scattered many pieces of the old world all about. Some of those pieces took the form of seemingly impossible obstacles. She stopped the car, and decided to try to do what had to be done._

"I really don't think this a good idea Madison." "Stop it Nan." Madison barked through gritted teeth. "This isn't as easy as it looks." The front end of an eighteen wheeler was lodged into a thin but tall building, and the accident was blocking their most direct route to the nearest bank of the river. "Please just let me take us the long way," Nan begged, "This seems like a really dangerous idea." "Shut up, we don't have time to go around. Three streets are blocked by this metal bitch; I'm doing us and any other survivors a favor." There was a loud scraping sound, followed by the vehicle suddenly popping out of the building. Bricks and wood tumbled out of the opening, and glass shattered as Madison strained to swing the truck out of their way.

"See Nan? I did it." Her hands started to shake, and sweat was starting to roll down her chin. "Madison, just drop it, we can get around it now." Ordinarily, Madison would gladly take the easy way out. But not this time. Lately, she'd been having thoughts about who their next Supreme could be. And she got to thinking, why not her? She was carrying this metal monster with her mind, and who knows how many tons it must weigh? It was a toy to her. A heavy toy, but still. Her powers of the mind and manipulation have been growing. Why not her?

"Madison!" _Shit_. How could she have let herself trail off like that? The eighteen wheeler crashed into an apartment building on the other side of the street. The third floor of an apartment building. She released her grip, and the truck remained planted in the walls. "Huh," she began, panting for breath, "I thought there'd be more, you know, building collapsing going on." "Let's just go," Nan repeated once more, "We've drawn enough attention to ourselves." The universe begged to differ. The building began to lean over. Not the one Madison had impaled with the truck, but the one she had pulled the truck out of. It was terribly loud, louder than either of them had expected. It raced to the ground and collapsed with a crumbling thud, kicking up the dust and debris of the streets and throwing it into the air.

Immediately following the collapse, the distant roar of the undead echoed through the streets. They emerged from all around the girls, coming out of the buildings, of the overgrowth, around corners, their arms flailing through the windows of every building in sight. "Well shit," said Madison, "Looks like this was the wrong neighborhood to wander into." "Are you really making jokes right now?" "Nan that attitude really doesn't make me want to like you, even though I feel like we could be pretty good friends." "Just get in the car!" The two girls practically leapt into their new car, but unfortunately, the universe was not yet done being cruel to them. "It's out of gas?" Madison exclaimed. "What the shit?" "Forget it," she felt Nan's perpetual grip dragging her from the car, "Let's run!" Already the hordes of the undead were closing in on them. The stretch of decay was strong.

"I told you we should've just taken the long way!" Nan and Madison sprinted through the streets, rushing along as fast as their legs could manage and then some. Behind them, a herd of walkers was rapidly growing. From all other sides they seemed to appear, the undead growing more numerous as the flowed down the street, every turn revealing more hungry beasts. "Shut up!" Madison replied. "You said we didn't have much time, so I followed your advice." "My advice was to go around!" "I meant the _implied_ advice, the shit people for whatever reason never say but they know deep down that it has to be done."

A squishy hand gripped Nan's calf. She stumbled as she shook the growling corpse from her leg, tripping over some metallic obstacle covered in the overgrowth of the streets. Madison slammed on her brakes as Nan tumbled onto the street. She could see blood trickling down her legs and arms. The walkers were clearly frenzied by the smell of fresh blood. "Get up!" Madison didn't skip a beat, yanking her companion from the ground. "You're bleeding, a lot, and they can smell it." "Was I scratched by it?" her voice was frantic, panicked. "Madison, am I bitten?" A quick glance provided the only relief to be had of the current situation. There were no cuts where the walker grabbed her, and its mouth never got close to her. Then again, that mouth was chomping towards them. They picked up their sprint again, albeit somewhat slower.

In truth, things seemed to be progressing much faster than she had expected. It was a lot messier as well, but in the end it wouldn't matter how much of a mess was made as long as all the bodies were cold on the floor. The drift through the river was very relaxing. The overgrowth shielded Marie from the harsher sunlight, and the waters were deep enough to keep the undead at bay. The occasional hungry reptile was easily waved away. With the wolf running on autopilot, however glitchy it may be, she was finally able to relax, and allow her thoughts to wander.

"This is way overdue." It was comforting hearing a voice, even if it was only her speaking. Human speech was always refreshing when one only hears snarls and growls for hours on end. "Hunting down witches in this shithole is not an easy chore. And what a chore it has been. My pet's misbehaving, some hunters are running about, and then the bystanders gotta get involved." She considered the teenagers. In truth, she could've easily thought of a plan in which they wouldn't have to die. But, admittedly, she was impatient. She didn't see it as a problem though. Who were they for her to care about? In a different world she allowed herself to care for almost anyone if they came to her. Unfortunately, the cards dealt were not in their favor. She needed to finish this, now, and to erase it all.

Maybe that was it. Maybe she wanted them all dead so she could start clean. She didn't want any reminders of what will happen. This world was cruel enough; she didn't need her mind nagging her about some survivors she never even knew before society collapsed.

The power plant loomed over the tree cover. "And we're here. Hopefully the others get here soon. Hiding shouldn't be a problem, but it certainly won't be a vacation."

"What the hell is this?" Stiles slammed on the brakes, the gory tires squeaking and grinding to a halt inches from the twisted metal of the truck's corpse. "When did that get here?" "Stiles," Lydia shouted from behind the jeep, "How about a little more fucking warning?" "Well sorry!" he shouted in reply. "I wasn't expecting a fucking building to be blocking the roads." "Let's calm down." Allison spoke over the radio, a soothing tone compared to Stiles and Lydia's exchange. "It's not like there's no other way though this city." "She's right," Scott chimed in, "And luckily, the only way that isn't blocked off actually leads to one of the new branches of the river." "How far down?" Derek asked. "A couple of miles," Scott replied, "Which is practically nothing compared to the setbacks we've seen in the past."

All corners. At every turn of the street there was an impressive herd of the undead converging, at every angle a mob approaching. By the time they were stripped to the bone, all these walking corpses would be another horde worthy of a post-apocalyptic legend. "To be honest," Madison began, "I had a feeling this was how it wound end. I mean, how else would this world take you? Have a junkie shoot you for a can of spam? Die from salmonella?" "I'd rather have a quicker death, this is going to hurt!" Sunlight reflected off the water rolling down Nan's face. Madison didn't want her to be so miserable. Granted not much more could be expected, but it was hopeless. Better to find some final peace before a horrendous end.

"And it'll hurt more than anything else," Madison added, "But we can't escape it. This time, our powers couldn't save us. Not even mine." She gazed at her hands, clenching them into fists and releasing her grip as her fingers went white. The walkers were so close, their stench was overwhelming. Any thoughts of her being the Supreme evaporated. She was exhausted, overwhelmed, and powerless. Powerless. A Supreme was supposed to have all the power in this world and the next, the power to manipulate everything. So what was she? She wrapped her arms around Nan and embraced her, allowing her, friend, to cry into her shoulder. She was pathetic. How could she let Nan feel this way? And then there was that. Wasn't a Supreme a ruler as well? Fuck that. Even if she was the Supreme, she would never see herself in Cordelia's shoes. Still, she wouldn't let her fellow witches fall so hard to such lows.

The sound was beautiful, one she had produced several times a day in the past. It was the sadistically wonderful melody of metal tearing through rotten flesh. But, interjected by gunfire and some very faint shouting. It probably wasn't faint, but drowned out by the roar of carnage. Roar, the metal brigade was _roaring_ towards them. Directly ahead of them. It wasn't long before the, jeep as it seemed, came tearing through the herds. Even undead idiots can be distracted, and this was just enough. A thin line amongst the ranks parted, and Madison dragged Nan through. There was a shallow ditch in the street, and she threw Nan down before throwing herself beside her. Mustering every ounce of strength she convinced herself was left in her body, she did not allow so much as a drop of blood to land on them. Instead it hovered, hovered as the wheel of a truck swerved over them.

"Get up!" The voice was not one born to command, but the glove certainly fit. The two popped their heads out of the ditch to see a confident group of well-armed teenagers massacring. The one who must've yelled at them, who was facing them while his weapon fired into the herd, was certainly something to get a second look at. "Come on, we can't keep this up!" Madison knew something was wrong, the way they fired their weapons so carefully and slowly. Low ammunition perhaps. She didn't another invitation, and pulled Nan from their ditch and rushed them to the jeep; she assumed it would have more room for them.

The boy who called them over leapt into the driver's seat. The one fighting beside him, older but with a bad boy look that Madison could feel all the way down, took shotgun with a shotgun. Ha. When the vehicles started up, the two girls noticed for the first time the terrifying plows attached to the front ends. They tore through the walkers, and a huge relief swept over them. It was palpable, something that filled the air. It didn't take long for their saviors to notice.

"Thank god we came this way," the shouter began, "You two wouldn't have lasted another minute." "It wouldn't be that long." Nan replied. "Thank you." "Don't mention it. My name is Stiles, and that's Derek." "Nice to meet you." "Same here." Madison added. "You guys have some serious firepower and strength. So, what was with the way you were shooting?" "We're conserving ammo," Derek replied, "We have a big fight ahead of us." "Well that's a coincidence," Madison began, "Because we were looking for a big fight. Not with the undead bastards that you've got stuck to your plow and windshield, but some people who deserve worse than them."

"Time for another coincidence then," said Stiles, "Because the bastards we're going after should've been six feet long ago. Derek here told us that they call themselves witch hunters." "What?!" Nan's voice took on a powerful tone, one apparently powerful enough to shake Derek. "You too?" "What the fuck is this?" Madison asked. "What're the odds?" "Incredibly slim I'd say," Stiles replied, "But hey, why question things when the dead rise? Who'd they take from you?" "Our instructor and a friend," Nan replied, "While they were out on a scavenging mission. I'm Nan by the way, and this is Madison." "Montgomery," she added, "In case you didn't recognize me." "Holy shit," Stiles exclaimed, "I fucking knew it! Wow if the world hadn't ended this would be like a dream come true." "I appreciate the compliment." "But," Stiles interrupted, "What were the names of your friends who were taken?" "Cordelia was our instructor," Nan replied, "And Queenie was our friend." "They're well-armed too," Madison added, "Though that should go without saying. It's hard to detain a firestarter."

"Firestarter?" asked Stiles. "What's that mean?" "It's easier than saying 'a mad witch who can start fires with her mind.'" Nan replied. "It also has a nice ring to it." Stiles was speechless. Derek spoke of that whole world of witchcraft as though it were real, and so did she. Madison may have been a lot of things, especially controversial, but she never seemed crazy. "She isn't." said Nan. "And your friend was telling the truth. Witches are real, and there are people hunting us." "How the fuck did you do that?" asked Stiles. "I didn't say a word." "She's clairvoyant," Madison replied, "A mind reader. Still doubt magic now?"


	12. Chapter 12

"Why are we here again Stiles?" Lydia asked as she peered through binoculars upon the horizon. "Just because walkers, well, walk, doesn't mean sitting around is any less dangerous." "Which is why we're on the roof," he replied, "And why our muscle is at the door." He nodded at Derek and Scott, their backs against the only rooftop entry. "No thuds or scratching yet," said Scott, "We're good." "Honestly," Stiles began, "I need us to sit down again and just, fucking let all of this sink in. From last evening to, fuck, it's probably only 1 o'clock or something, we've had a shit ton of crazy and unbelievable encounters and revelations."

"Crazy witch hunters," Lydia interjected, "Witches, _actual _magic, kidnappings, three mysterious strangers, a gunfight in the airport, a week's worth of near-death experiences, and, um, am I forgetting anything?" _Well you are_, Stiles thought, _But I don't think he'd be too happy about me spilling his secret. But why is he so concerned about us knowing? Why is he calling it a curse?_ "No," he said aloud, "I think that goes across the whole spectrum. Things haven't moved this fast, this, spastically, since those days when the world started falling apart. It's an eerie feeling." "I know what you mean." said Madison. "Watching the world lose its fucking mind was, I'd have to guess, my worst trip ever."

"I always wondered what would happen to celebrities in these situations." said Allison. "It's strange to think of them going through all of this shit. I guess some can adapt." "I'd like to think that the ones I knew survived, but honestly, most probably died a while ago. It gets easy to deal with loss in this world." "Not really," Nan interjected, "You just get more used to always having to deal with it." Nan's words cast a momentary silence over the group. "How do you know Madison?" Allison asked as she cast off the silence. "We went to the same school," Nan replied, "The plantation-style one in the garden-" "Nan," Madison snapped, "Could you not?"

"They're not bad people Madison, I know they're not." "But that's still pretty much giving away the fucking Bat Cave." "Wait," said Stiles, "I thought you were in some rehab center." "Which was a very believable cover story," Madison replied, "But I don't think it would've been good for my career to come out as a witch." "I can understand that." said Lydia. "Now, Stiles, can we please get going? You know how dangerous it is to stay in the city this long." "As if the river's much safer." said Scott. "Not yet," Stiles asserted, "I, just, a few more minutes, alright?" "No," Lydia asserted, "We move now. Let's check out the buildings by those docks. We need a new ride and some place to secure our own rides."

"Level with me Nan," Madison whispered as the two approached a rental shack, "What aren't you telling me about them?" Nan quickly scanned the area. There was enough distance between the other groups and themselves for her to speak freely. "Derek," she replied, "The oldest one? I can't read his mind." Immediately Madison felt uneasy. Nan's powers had never faults red before. "Why not?" she simply asked. "I don't know, but something is blocking them out." Active interference? On a lighter note, had she known such a thing was possible, long ago would she have taken that action. But on a serious note, this did bring Derek's very nature into question. "He does fit the image of a man hiding something." She noticed Derek and Stiles approaching the warehouse. He could be the devil himself, but Madison couldn't stop herself from stealing more than a quick glance. "Could you focus?"

Nan raised her voice well beyond what Madison would've preferred. Derek and Stiles turned their heads towards them, and Madison quickly averted her eyes. She grabbed Nan's arm and picked up their pace. "As long as you keep your voice down." she replied. "Sorry." said Nan. "The others don't seem to really be associated with him." "They've only known him a few hours more than us. Not much time to form a bond." Madison's words were, muffled, in Nan's ears. The thoughts of one of the others came strongly. It was a brief spike, no doubt because of the growing distance between them and the others, but it was clear as day. And, awkward. "Oops." she whispered. "What?" Madison still caught her comment. "I shouldn't say," Nan began, "It's one of those reasons I don't like having this gift." "Come on," Madison nagged, "I'm not gonna blab to them." It wasn't necessarily that she trusted Madison, but she knew Madison wouldn't give up on this. Might as well get it over with. "One of them likes Derek." A smirk crept its way onto Madison's face. "Ooh," she teased, "Scandalous. I bet it's Allison, looking for a new boy toy." She laughed, but Nan was not amused. "What?" "Um, it's Stiles."

"What do you think about them?" asked Scott as he broke down the door to one of the larger warehouses. "I'm still pretty star struck." Lydia replied with a slight giggle. "Same here." Allison said with a similar tone. "It's amazing that we ran into her. As for Nan, she seems down to earth. I like her." "She definitely seems to be the tamer of the two." added Lydia. "It's kind of weird that she can read our minds though." "But," said Scott, "Like you said, she's tame. I don't think that just because she has that power means that she would abuse it." _I have the feeling she's the least of our worries, _he thought, _Especially considering what we're about to be neck deep in. _The dock warehouse was very large, and the conversation subsided as they spread out. Surely there would have to be something they could use.

A large, grungy tarp, draped over some long, mysterious object. Whatever could it be? Allison yanked the disgusting cover, causing a pungent cloud to be released as the tarp fell off. There was never any question as to what it was. "I found a canoe." she announced. "That sure as hell isn't what I would want to go through those waters in, but if it's the only thing we can find, I won't have a choice." Lydia and Scott came to Allison's side, examining the canoe. It was almost entirely made up of patches, and duct tape seemed to be a major ingredient. "Hell to the no." Lydia declared. "I'll build us a goddamn yacht if I have to." "I actually think some of the patches have shirts in them." Scott observed. "I doubt this thing will ever float again." "I doubt it could hold off a walking skeleton." Lydia added. "Let's keep looking."

The search continued, and Allison noticed something far less obvious than the rotted tarp. There were about a dozen large crates stacked, forming a sizable wall with a corner. Peeking out from one of the corners was the very tip of a small boat. Relatively flawless metal assured her that it would be a major step up from the canoe. Rounding the corner, the boat revealed itself to be far more than she could have hoped for. "How about one of these bad boys?" she called out. Lydia and Scott were soon by her side again, and their eyes lit up when they saw the airboat sitting on its trailer. "That could work." said Scott. "And there are two of them." "Each with five seats." Lydia added. "There's enough space for us, and for our friends once we save them."

"Alright," Stiles began, "The water levels have never reached this point, and the barricade is solid. Hopefully no one rummaging through the city gets _too_ nosy." It concerned him that there were signs of water damage on the other side of the shed, but his concern wouldn't do any good. This was still the best place to hide their vehicles. He quickly became, not annoyed, but something close to it with a hint of disappointment, that he had once again been met with by silence from Derek. "Something wrong?" he finally asked. "No," Derek quickly replied, "I'm fine." _Of course you are. Well too bad for you that I'm not finished._ "Can we talk?" he continued. "What you're doing right now, it's hard to deal with." "Stiles," he wasn't rushing through his response this time, "We have a lot of work to do."

It was tiring, trying to break through. Was he bipolar? One minute he's on the brink of coming out of his shell, the next he's sealed up. It was so inconsistent too. "I'm sorry, but, believe it or not it's not easy to keep acting this way." Stiles needed him to at least have some idea of how he was feeling. But then again, why was he trying? They haven't even know each other a day yet. Then again, _The apocalypse is unforgiving. Better to try diving into something. _As if Derek could hear his thoughts, he quickly covered the distance between them. He was inches away when his hands wrapped around Stiles' waist. Derek pulled their bodies together and kissed him. It was, firm, his lips pressing hard against Stiles'. Stiles felt Derek's tongue creep into his mouth, and he was concerned about their bodies being so close to each other. Even though Derek was becoming more and more confusing to him, he was without a question very arousing.

It lasted a few seconds, before Derek pulled away from Stiles. He smiled, nothing of the cheek to cheek kind, but something subtle and ironically inviting. "Is that enough?" he simply asked before he returned to securing the perimeter. "Ok, what the hell?" Stiles replied. "This is the weirdest relationship anyone could possibly have." "You saying you didn't like that?" _Seriously? He's got to be bipolar. _"Well obviously I enjoyed it." "Once we finish all of this, at the power plant, we can talk. Alright?" _Hey, if he wants to talk, that's something, isn't it? _"Sure thing Derek." "Hey guys, come to the boathouse. We found our new rides." "More good news."

The pains she had come to know earlier this day paled in comparison to what she suffered in this moment. Her wrists and ankles were bound to this cold metal chair with rusty barbed wire, and a fresh gash on her forehead bled in a steady stream. A bright light bulb hung above her. To her left side was a door. It was quickly opened and closed, a single individual entering. Mr. Argent. "You really thought you'd get away?" he asked. "You thought taking out, what, half a dozen men, would be enough?" "I thought it was worth a shot." Cordelia muttered. "It was better than sitting around waiting to die." Mr. Argent ran his hands through his hair, and rolled his eyes at her. "More sympathizes and witches are coming to your rescue than we could've hoped for." he began. "You three have been very useful, and even though we've take a little dip in our, personnel, it's still been worth it all." His attitude was sickening. "Where have you taken Queenie?" she demanded with a sudden burst of rage.

"It doesn't concern you." he quickly replied. "But, you should know that you and Misty are going to die, don't you?" "What about your bait? People don't chase corpses these days; it's the other way around." "Well, we already know that they're coming, and if we kill you, they'll never know until it's too late? To be honest, it'll be better to kill them. We don't need any troublemakers running around." _Bastard_. _Why would he kill innocent people?_ "No," she shouted, "You can't kill them, you don't have to!" He chuckled. "Don't worry; you'll still have a chance to fight. So will Misty."

The world was all shrouded in a milky haze. Strange lights glimmered like distant stars, though their shining presence burned her eyes. The world was very quiet, quiet and cold. It was like she was in some kind of dry, metallic, womb? Was that the word? It hurt to think. It really hurt. A harsh noise violated the world, and it was in this moment that she realized her limbs were bound. "You awake?" The voice was so muffled, she felt like someone was holding their fingers in her ears. What was wrong with her? What did they do to her? She remembered sending an armed man flying across a room, overwhelming gunfire, and being struck in head. Her forehead throbbed.

"You aware?" _Of what?_ "Where," she weakly muttered, "Where am, where?" "I guess it doesn't matter yet. By the time he dies you'll probably be coherent enough to put up a struggle." Death. This is a world of death. "You're going to die, he continued, "You know that, don't you?" "No." "Yes, yes you are. Now, how you're going to die is still up in the air." She felt sick. The thought of death was horrendous in her twilight state. "Come on," he shouted, "You can try to stay awake a little longer." The door opened again. It must've been the sound she heard earlier. There was one set of footsteps moving normally, and another moving frantically. "Get in here kid!" The new man was shouting. "You should never have come here!" "Please!" Misty assumed that he was their prisoner. "You don't have to do this!" _Shnk_. They stabbed him. They stabbed him, and their tormentors quickly left the room. She heard the door lock.

"Oh my god," the prisoner cried out, "Why're you doing this?" "You," Misty muttered, "Who are you?" "What?" His cries were too loud for her weak voice to rise over. "Who are _you_?" "Misty Day," she replied, "I'm, I'm Misty Day. They gave me something." "They gave me something too." "I know, I know. You've been stabbed." "Yeah. They said they're going to let me die, so I can turn." "So they can kill me." Brutal. Sadistic. Monstrous. All of these words floated around in Misty's mind. Who was this person? Why would they kill him? No, no it was clear that he must've wandered into this place. So, execution? By infection? "Why did they do this to you?" he asked. "Did you wander in here too?" "No, I'm a witch." Silence. "They're witch hunters."

How crazy she must've sounded, she could only guess. She was becoming lucid at a surprisingly fast rate, but she wasn't awake enough to use subtly. "A witch?" "I know it sounds crazy, but I'm not. I could save you, if I wasn't tied up." "Well I'm not exactly mobile either." She hadn't even realized that she was facing away from him. She struggled to turn herself over, and their victim was propped against the wall, blood staining a large area of his chest. She could see where the knife tore through his shirt. His hands were covered in duct tape, arms tied tightly against his sides, and his legs were cocooned in the tape. Where were these people finding all this tape?

"How deep is it?" she asked. "Very," he replied, "It hurts." His face was already paler. "You have to fight it," she insisted, "If I, I come through, I can save us?" "You sound stoned." "I can do things with my brain. They don't like that." _Why? Why would she phrase it like that?_ "You sound crazy," he began, "But, hey, I'd rather believe that there's some way out of this than accept death." She smiled. It wasn't trust, but it was enough. "What's your name?" she asked. "Danny. My name's Danny." "Well, Danny, we can make it out of this. I don't know how, but I'm coming to fast enough. If I can free myself, I can save you. And then, we can help each other out." "I don't think I believe you. But, I'd like to think I have an option." "This big wife world can surprise you. Are there any tools in here?"

"Alright," Stiles began, "My jeep and the truck are locked up. Hopefully they'll stay hidden and dry until we come back. We'll take the airboats as far down the river as we can. If we have to trek some of the way, so be it." "I don't think we're dressed for that," said Allison, "But we'll cross that bridge if it comes to us." "We do remember that it isn't just the undead, right?" asked Nan. "There are also the alligators." "Right," Scott added, "The feral ones that go crazy when they smell blood." "Well I think our more recent injuries have at least stabbed up," said Allison, "And unless any of us are on our flow, we should be safer. You're not on your flow," she was directing the question at Nan, "Right?" "No." "Well I know Lydia isn't," Allison continued. "Madison?" "Usually doesn't start until next week." she replied. "Though, I've lost many of my great panties to my period."

"Well if the Red Sea isn't flowing forth," Stiles joked, "I saw we get our feet wet. Kind of. It'll be the boats getting wet, but you get the idea." "That was almost cute." Madison teased. "But, you're right; standing here we're still acting as bait to all the lovely citizens of New Orleans." "Scott and I will start loading up the red boat." Allison announced. "Stiles, Nan, can you get the other one ready?" "Sure thing." Nan replied.


	13. Chapter 13

"Why are we here again Stiles?" Lydia asked as she peered through binoculars upon the horizon. "Just because walkers, well, walk, doesn't mean sitting around is any less dangerous." "Which is why we're on the roof," he replied, "And why our muscle is at the door." He nodded at Derek and Scott, their backs against the only rooftop entry. "No thuds or scratching yet," said Scott, "We're good." "Honestly," Stiles began, "I need us to sit down again and just, fucking let all of this sink in. From last evening to, fuck, it's probably only 1 o'clock or something, we've had a shit ton of crazy and unbelievable encounters and revelations."

"Crazy witch hunters," Lydia interjected, "Witches, _actual _magic, kidnappings, three mysterious strangers, a gunfight in the airport, a week's worth of near-death experiences, and, um, am I forgetting anything?" _Well you are_, Stiles thought, _But I don't think he'd be too happy about me spilling his secret. But why is he so concerned about us knowing? Why is he calling it a curse?_ "No," he said aloud, "I think that goes across the whole spectrum. Things haven't moved this fast, this, spastically, since those days when the world started falling apart. It's an eerie feeling." "I know what you mean." said Madison. "Watching the world lose its fucking mind was, I'd have to guess, my worst trip ever."

"I always wondered what would happen to celebrities in these situations." said Allison. "It's strange to think of them going through all of this shit. I guess some can adapt." "I'd like to think that the ones I knew survived, but honestly, most probably died a while ago. It gets easy to deal with loss in this world." "Not really," Nan interjected, "You just get more used to always having to deal with it." Nan's words cast a momentary silence over the group. "How do you know Madison?" Allison asked as she cast off the silence. "We went to the same school," Nan replied, "The plantation-style one in the garden-" "Nan," Madison snapped, "Could you not?"

"They're not bad people Madison, I know they're not." "But that's still pretty much giving away the fucking Bat Cave." "Wait," said Stiles, "I thought you were in some rehab center." "Which was a very believable cover story," Madison replied, "But I don't think it would've been good for my career to come out as a witch." "I can understand that." said Lydia. "Now, Stiles, can we please get going? You know how dangerous it is to stay in the city this long." "As if the river's much safer." said Scott. "Not yet," Stiles asserted, "I, just, a few more minutes, alright?" "No," Lydia asserted, "We move now. Let's check out the buildings by those docks. We need a new ride and some place to secure our own rides."

"Level with me Nan," Madison whispered as the two approached a rental shack, "What aren't you telling me about them?" Nan quickly scanned the area. There was enough distance between the other groups and themselves for her to speak freely. "Derek," she replied, "The oldest one? I can't read his mind." Immediately Madison felt uneasy. Nan's powers had never faults red before. "Why not?" she simply asked. "I don't know, but something is blocking them out." Active interference? On a lighter note, had she known such a thing was possible, long ago would she have taken that action. But on a serious note, this did bring Derek's very nature into question. "He does fit the image of a man hiding something." She noticed Derek and Stiles approaching the warehouse. He could be the devil himself, but Madison couldn't stop herself from stealing more than a quick glance. "Could you focus?"

Nan raised her voice well beyond what Madison would've preferred. Derek and Stiles turned their heads towards them, and Madison quickly averted her eyes. She grabbed Nan's arm and picked up their pace. "As long as you keep your voice down." she replied. "Sorry." said Nan. "The others don't seem to really be associated with him." "They've only known him a few hours more than us. Not much time to form a bond." Madison's words were, muffled, in Nan's ears. The thoughts of one of the others came strongly. It was a brief spike, no doubt because of the growing distance between them and the others, but it was clear as day. And, awkward. "Oops." she whispered. "What?" Madison still caught her comment. "I shouldn't say," Nan began, "It's one of those reasons I don't like having this gift." "Come on," Madison nagged, "I'm not gonna blab to them." It wasn't necessarily that she trusted Madison, but she knew Madison wouldn't give up on this. Might as well get it over with. "One of them likes Derek." A smirk crept its way onto Madison's face. "Ooh," she teased, "Scandalous. I bet it's Allison, looking for a new boy toy." She laughed, but Nan was not amused. "What?" "Um, it's Stiles."

"What do you think about them?" asked Scott as he broke down the door to one of the larger warehouses. "I'm still pretty star struck." Lydia replied with a slight giggle. "Same here." Allison said with a similar tone. "It's amazing that we ran into her. As for Nan, she seems down to earth. I like her." "She definitely seems to be the tamer of the two." added Lydia. "It's kind of weird that she can read our minds though." "But," said Scott, "Like you said, she's tame. I don't think that just because she has that power means that she would abuse it." _I have the feeling she's the least of our worries, _he thought, _Especially considering what we're about to be neck deep in. _The dock warehouse was very large, and the conversation subsided as they spread out. Surely there would have to be something they could use.

A large, grungy tarp, draped over some long, mysterious object. Whatever could it be? Allison yanked the disgusting cover, causing a pungent cloud to be released as the tarp fell off. There was never any question as to what it was. "I found a canoe." she announced. "That sure as hell isn't what I would want to go through those waters in, but if it's the only thing we can find, I won't have a choice." Lydia and Scott came to Allison's side, examining the canoe. It was almost entirely made up of patches, and duct tape seemed to be a major ingredient. "Hell to the no." Lydia declared. "I'll build us a goddamn yacht if I have to." "I actually think some of the patches have shirts in them." Scott observed. "I doubt this thing will ever float again." "I doubt it could hold off a walking skeleton." Lydia added. "Let's keep looking."

The search continued, and Allison noticed something far less obvious than the rotted tarp. There were about a dozen large crates stacked, forming a sizable wall with a corner. Peeking out from one of the corners was the very tip of a small boat. Relatively flawless metal assured her that it would be a major step up from the canoe. Rounding the corner, the boat revealed itself to be far more than she could have hoped for. "How about one of these bad boys?" she called out. Lydia and Scott were soon by her side again, and their eyes lit up when they saw the airboat sitting on its trailer. "That could work." said Scott. "And there are two of them." "Each with five seats." Lydia added. "There's enough space for us, and for our friends once we save them."

"Alright," Stiles began, "The water levels have never reached this point, and the barricade is solid. Hopefully no one rummaging through the city gets _too_ nosy." It concerned him that there were signs of water damage on the other side of the shed, but his concern wouldn't do any good. This was still the best place to hide their vehicles. He quickly became, not annoyed, but something close to it with a hint of disappointment, that he had once again been met with by silence from Derek. "Something wrong?" he finally asked. "No," Derek quickly replied, "I'm fine." _Of course you are. Well too bad for you that I'm not finished._ "Can we talk?" he continued. "What you're doing right now, it's hard to deal with." "Stiles," he wasn't rushing through his response this time, "We have a lot of work to do."

It was tiring, trying to break through. Was he bipolar? One minute he's on the brink of coming out of his shell, the next he's sealed up. It was so inconsistent too. "I'm sorry, but, believe it or not it's not easy to keep acting this way." Stiles needed him to at least have some idea of how he was feeling. But then again, why was he trying? They haven't even know each other a day yet. Then again, _The apocalypse is unforgiving. Better to try diving into something. _As if Derek could hear his thoughts, he quickly covered the distance between them. He was inches away when his hands wrapped around Stiles' waist. Derek pulled their bodies together and kissed him. It was, firm, his lips pressing hard against Stiles'. Stiles felt Derek's tongue creep into his mouth, and he was concerned about their bodies being so close to each other. Even though Derek was becoming more and more confusing to him, he was without a question very arousing.

It lasted a few seconds, before Derek pulled away from Stiles. He smiled, nothing of the cheek to cheek kind, but something subtle and ironically inviting. "Is that enough?" he simply asked before he returned to securing the perimeter. "Ok, what the hell?" Stiles replied. "This is the weirdest relationship anyone could possibly have." "You saying you didn't like that?" _Seriously? He's got to be bipolar. _"Well obviously I enjoyed it." "Once we finish all of this, at the power plant, we can talk. Alright?" _Hey, if he wants to talk, that's something, isn't it? _"Sure thing Derek." "Hey guys, come to the boathouse. We found our new rides." "More good news."

The pains she had come to know earlier this day paled in comparison to what she suffered in this moment. Her wrists and ankles were bound to this cold metal chair with rusty barbed wire, and a fresh gash on her forehead bled in a steady stream. A bright light bulb hung above her. To her left side was a door. It was quickly opened and closed, a single individual entering. Mr. Argent. "You really thought you'd get away?" he asked. "You thought taking out, what, half a dozen men, would be enough?" "I thought it was worth a shot." Cordelia muttered. "It was better than sitting around waiting to die." Mr. Argent ran his hands through his hair, and rolled his eyes at her. "More sympathizes and witches are coming to your rescue than we could've hoped for." he began. "You three have been very useful, and even though we've take a little dip in our, personnel, it's still been worth it all." His attitude was sickening. "Where have you taken Queenie?" she demanded with a sudden burst of rage.

"It doesn't concern you." he quickly replied. "But, you should know that you and Misty are going to die, don't you?" "What about your bait? People don't chase corpses these days; it's the other way around." "Well, we already know that they're coming, and if we kill you, they'll never know until it's too late? To be honest, it'll be better to kill them. We don't need any troublemakers running around." _Bastard_. _Why would he kill innocent people?_ "No," she shouted, "You can't kill them, you don't have to!" He chuckled. "Don't worry; you'll still have a chance to fight. So will Misty."

The world was all shrouded in a milky haze. Strange lights glimmered like distant stars, though their shining presence burned her eyes. The world was very quiet, quiet and cold. It was like she was in some kind of dry, metallic, womb? Was that the word? It hurt to think. It really hurt. A harsh noise violated the world, and it was in this moment that she realized her limbs were bound. "You awake?" The voice was so muffled, she felt like someone was holding their fingers in her ears. What was wrong with her? What did they do to her? She remembered sending an armed man flying across a room, overwhelming gunfire, and being struck in head. Her forehead throbbed.

"You aware?" _Of what?_ "Where," she weakly muttered, "Where am, where?" "I guess it doesn't matter yet. By the time he dies you'll probably be coherent enough to put up a struggle." Death. This is a world of death. "You're going to die, he continued, "You know that, don't you?" "No." "Yes, yes you are. Now, how you're going to die is still up in the air." She felt sick. The thought of death was horrendous in her twilight state. "Come on," he shouted, "You can try to stay awake a little longer." The door opened again. It must've been the sound she heard earlier. There was one set of footsteps moving normally, and another moving frantically. "Get in here kid!" The new man was shouting. "You should never have come here!" "Please!" Misty assumed that he was their prisoner. "You don't have to do this!" _Shnk_. They stabbed him. They stabbed him, and their tormentors quickly left the room. She heard the door lock.

"Oh my god," the prisoner cried out, "Why're you doing this?" "You," Misty muttered, "Who are you?" "What?" His cries were too loud for her weak voice to rise over. "Who are _you_?" "Misty Day," she replied, "I'm, I'm Misty Day. They gave me something." "They gave me something too." "I know, I know. You've been stabbed." "Yeah. They said they're going to let me die, so I can turn." "So they can kill me." Brutal. Sadistic. Monstrous. All of these words floated around in Misty's mind. Who was this person? Why would they kill him? No, no it was clear that he must've wandered into this place. So, execution? By infection? "Why did they do this to you?" he asked. "Did you wander in here too?" "No, I'm a witch." Silence. "They're witch hunters."

How crazy she must've sounded, she could only guess. She was becoming lucid at a surprisingly fast rate, but she wasn't awake enough to use subtly. "A witch?" "I know it sounds crazy, but I'm not. I could save you, if I wasn't tied up." "Well I'm not exactly mobile either." She hadn't even realized that she was facing away from him. She struggled to turn herself over, and their victim was propped against the wall, blood staining a large area of his chest. She could see where the knife tore through his shirt. His hands were covered in duct tape, arms tied tightly against his sides, and his legs were cocooned in the tape. Where were these people finding all this tape?

"How deep is it?" she asked. "Very," he replied, "It hurts." His face was already paler. "You have to fight it," she insisted, "If I, I come through, I can save us?" "You sound stoned." "I can do things with my brain. They don't like that." _Why? Why would she phrase it like that?_ "You sound crazy," he began, "But, hey, I'd rather believe that there's some way out of this than accept death." She smiled. It wasn't trust, but it was enough. "What's your name?" she asked. "Danny. My name's Danny." "Well, Danny, we can make it out of this. I don't know how, but I'm coming to fast enough. If I can free myself, I can save you. And then, we can help each other out." "I don't think I believe you. But, I'd like to think I have an option." "This big wife world can surprise you. Are there any tools in here?"

"Alright," Stiles began, "My jeep and the truck are locked up. Hopefully they'll stay hidden and dry until we come back. We'll take the airboats as far down the river as we can. If we have to trek some of the way, so be it." "I don't think we're dressed for that," said Allison, "But we'll cross that bridge if it comes to us." "We do remember that it isn't just the undead, right?" asked Nan. "There are also the alligators." "Right," Scott added, "The feral ones that go crazy when they smell blood." "Well I think our more recent injuries have at least stabbed up," said Allison, "And unless any of us are on our flow, we should be safer. You're not on your flow," she was directing the question at Nan, "Right?" "No." "Well I know Lydia isn't," Allison continued. "Madison?" "Usually doesn't start until next week." she replied. "Though, I've lost many of my great panties to my period."

"Well if the Red Sea isn't flowing forth," Stiles joked, "I saw we get our feet wet. Kind of. It'll be the boats getting wet, but you get the idea." "That was almost cute." Madison teased. "But, you're right; standing here we're still acting as bait to all the lovely citizens of New Orleans." "Scott and I will start loading up the red boat." Allison announced. "Stiles, Nan, can you get the other one ready?" "Sure thing." Nan replied.


	14. Chapter 14

"I'm such a failure as a witch, as a guardian to those girls. I couldn't protect them. And, I couldn't protect myself. We're going to drift into the darkness. We, those travelers in the dark, are lost. We'll be forgotten, and it'll be like we never existed."

"Just get in the goddamn tree!"

Stiles looked over his shoulder, seeing if Lydia's fiery command was in vain. Thankfully both she and Scott were able to hoist Allison up the tree, just as one of the gators snapped its jaws at her. Its jagged and festering teeth missed her legs by no more than an inch. They couldn't use their guns anymore, or at least nothing other than the shotguns. They had to think about surviving a firefight. Shit, they had to think about surviving the next few minutes or hours if the gators pursued them much further.

His heart racing, sweat dripping from his brow, his mind was struck with curiosity. The alligators were behaving extremely violent and ravenous, more so than what they had seen in the past. These animals weren't simply rabid anymore. There was something more. But, the virus never affected animals. And if it did, these things would've been shuffling corpses. Maybe, maybe it mutated? How did viruses work? Could it jump across species? And if it could, was it just the alligators? Was the whole ecosystem now contaminated, fully and thoroughly?

A quick _yipe_ pulled him from his thoughts. Nana caught her leg on a branch and fell face first into the overgrowth; thank god the asphalt wasn't exposed. "Help!" The gators should've been on her, but having witches on your side presented some serious benefits. Madison had her arms extended out, her force keeping the alligators away. Derek picked her up, and, _oh_, carried her, and they resumed their run.

"Where are we going?" Madison shouted. "Do we have a plan?" "Get into one of these buildings," Stiles quickly replied, "And barricade ourselves in. Then, we think of a way to get back to Scott and the others before Allison dies." "How are they this driven?" Madison asked. "It isn't even that much blood. Well, maybe Allison got them going, but still!" "No, it isn't natural," Stiles replied, "Something else is wrong with them." "Open door!" Derek cut left, and on the dime turn with Nan in his arms, and dove into a small flower shop. Stiles and Madison quickly followed chase. When they reached the shop, Derek was already sliding a shelf in front of the door. They slipped in and helped him secure the shop.

The alligators clawed at the tree, tearing their paws open and spilling blood over the peeling trunk. The others started to consume the injured, but they did not give up on their pursuit of the humans. The bodies at the bottom of the tree were slowly piling up. Their jaws snapped closer and closer. "They're going to reach us." said Lydia. "We need to do something _now_." "I think you'll have to leave me." Allison suggested. "There's no way we can all make it out of this with me slowing you down." "Not an option," Scott quickly replied, "We all make it out of here. This group is not getting any smaller."

Lydia desperately searched their immediate surroundings. She didn't want to let herself think it, but Allison sacrificing herself would greatly aid the rest of them. No, that was selfish reasoning. Just because it would be easier, she should die? No, they've endured the worst of New Orleans already and survived. _They_ survived. Something caught her eye. A power line was laced through the branches up above. It was a dead line, it had to be, and maybe it could be their saving grace. The tree was very close to an adjacent building.

"Scott," she was already finding her grip on Allison, "Help me get her up." "What're you doing Lydia?" he asked. "There's a power line, a dead line. And, you're not going to like this plan. Allison, how much strength do you have in your good arm?" "Depends on what I have to do." "We tie one of us onto the line, and that person swings through that window." She pointed at the only window not boarded up or covered in overgrowth, a very wide frame that could easily allow a person through. "Once one of us is through," she continued, "That person will swing the line back, and we'll all get across." "That's about twenty feet across." Scott estimated. "I don't think you could throw it back across Allison." "Me neither," she replied, "But, I don't think I can tie myself up, so I'll take the chance. If, one of you is willing." "I'll go last," Lydia volunteered, "Since this crazy little plan was my idea." "Alright," said Allison, "You guys tie me up and help give me a good push."

"Almost there Danny." The razor blade sunk through the tape, a clean tear through the tape binding his forearms. He pulled his arms apart, stretching the already sore muscles and cringing at his circulation flowing back through the limbs. "We're doing great," she continued, "Once you cut my hands loose I can save you." "I still don't think I believe you," he replied, "It's all a bit too, well, too good to be true." "Don't underestimate me," she began as she started on his hands, "I'm a lot more powerful than I look. People in this world never took me for much, always thought I was some dumb swamp rat. Family thought worse of me, especially when they decided to burn me. This new world treated me worse, but now? I'm gonna kick its ass."

"Sorry," said Danny, "I didn't mean to offend." "You didn't hun; I'm just worked up is all. I want to get out of here, get back to my friends. I wanna save Cordelia too, and her other witch." "But we don't know where they are." "We'll find them." The razor split a layer of tape. Misty carefully released it onto the floor, and she gripped the loose end of the tape with her teeth. She jerked, twisted, and strained her head in all direction to pull the tape. Danny was growing weaker and weaker, so he wasn't of much help to her. She wasn't about to let him die though. Admittedly, she was more concerned about herself than him every other second or so. She didn't want to be eaten. The tape caved in to her will, strands coming undone, fingers wiggling beneath the ever thinking layers that sought to bring them both doom.

She knew she could save them both.

Finally, Allison decided to tie a rock to the power line. She threw it again, and this time it was able to cover the entire distance and then some. "Good thinking!" Lydia called out. "It's innovation like that that keeps us alive." "You mean throwing rocks like a caveman?" Allison replied. "I think you're getting tipsy," Lydia joked in return, "I'll be right over." "Wait," Scott grabbed her arm, "We don't have the meds we need." "What?" "I think we got the bags mixed up, Stiles and the others must have them." "Shit. Alright, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. At the risk of sounding morbid, we want Allison to live long enough to die from shock, or bleeding out, or whatever. Alright?" "Yeah, I understand. I'll help get you secured."

_Wham! Wham! Wham! Wham! _"Jesus Christ," Madison exclaimed, "Why won't they stop? They shouldn't be trying this hard!" "There's no point in trying to figure them out," said Nan, "Let's just leave!" The door splintered and the head of a gator tore through, jaws and eyes invigorated by bloodlust. A quick burst from a shotgun put it down, and temporarily clogged the door. "Where?" Derek asked. "We don't have a lot of options right now." "Let's see if the back door is clear." she suggested. "I don't see why it wouldn't be," said Stiles, "So, why not?" Glass shattered, and the shelves they had propped against the windows rocked and shook. "Fine," said Derek, "Let's go out the back."

The back door was clear, as Stiles has hoped, and they barricaded it behind them. The longer they could confuse the alligators, the better. They were mobbing, swarming, them, and it was like some surreal nightmare. Or, something out of a video game. He definitely wouldn't recommend it on a higher difficulty. "We have to make a wide arch," he began, "Pit enough distance between us and the shop so the gators won't catch on." "I think I've been through here before," said Madison, "When I was, um, that's not important. But, at the street we can go left and into the closest building at the end of the street. If we get to the roof we can hop across and back to your friends." "Sounds like a fun little workout," Stiles replied, "I'm in."

They cleared the alley in a sprint, on the off chance that there were some alligators lurking. They almost didn't notice the herd, _herd_, of walkers to the left, filling the street to the brim. "Holy shit," Nan exclaimed, "There's so many of them!" They broke into a steady sprint, the herd releasing its collective groaning and moaning as it turned towards them, shuffling along. "Tell me you know how to get in!" Stiles shouted at Madison. "Things just went from bad to completely fucked!" "There's a ladder on the outside!" she replied. "I don't think these things are all that great at climbing, so we should be fine." "A lot of things 'should' be a certain way," Derek barked, "But I don't think luck is really on our side today."

Speak of the devil and he shall appear; as the lock on the metal cage surrounding the base of the ladder. The cage grid was too tight to fit fingers through. There wasn't enough time to use telekinesis to lift everyone over. Madison and Nan more than likely lacked enough strength to do that for everyone. Some of the gators had left the mob and were heading towards them as well. This, they all knew and saw, before actually reaching the ladder.

"Goddammit Madison!" Derek shouted. "Don't fucking blame me; this was never here all the times I came by." "What the fuck were you doing here anyways?" "Is that really important!" "Stop fighting!" Nan screamed. "We need to find another way!" "No time," Derek interjected, "I'll have to break the lock." "You have the jaws of life in your back pocket?" Madison asked. "I'll do it by hand." "He's stronger than he looks," said Stiles, "Way stronger. He can get through. We just have to hope the walkers don't get to us."

_Excellent wolf, just perfect! It'd be best to get both of the witches killed, but let's not risk too much. Besides, I still want the show during the full moon. At least make sure the clairvoyant dies._

_"I'll stall as long as I can. I promise you that she'll die."_

_This'll make up for you letting your hormones get the best of you. Think with the head on your shoulders, not the one you've got down under._

"Let's go down the hall!" As it turned out, the building the trio had launched themselves into was more than a little infested with the undead. Lydia and Scott helped Allison move along, each guarding one side of both her and themselves. The walkers were falling out of the ceiling, the doorways, and the walls. The building was falling apart and reeked of mold and decay. "We have to get to the roof," Lydia continued, "We can go across the rooftops and find someplace to hunker down." "I hope Stiles and the others are having better luck." said Allison. "I don't want to sound selfish, but it could really use some of our meds right now." "Don't worry," Scott assured her, "No one is going to die here."

"I don't want to die like this," Nan sobbed, "It's slow and painful and you come back as one of them!" "Nan!" Madison slapped her. "Get a grip! We're going to make it, ok? We're witches, we're survivors. You won't be one of them." Nan wiped the tears and snot from her face. "Alright," she said, "Alright. I believe you." "Then again," Stiles interrupted, "The herd is close enough for us to smell them!" "You think I don't know that?" Derek snapped. "I'm doing the best I can!" "How could you have lifted the plow earlier, but this is getting the best of you?" "It's about precision Stiles, I'm doing my best!" An alligator roared, reading its head from around the corner of the building. "Shoot it!"

Another burst from the shotgun ended the beast's rampage, but this time it was like ringing a dinner bell. They could the other gators roaring down the street, followed by the scratching and scraping of dozens of scaly, clawed feet. As this all unfolded, the herd began to make its final approach to them. Those at the front started to move faster, their need to feed propelling them forward, pushing them faster. Nan grew hysterical, and Madison could not calm her down.

_Those walkers are close enough. Break the lock_.

The lock fell to ground with a harsh _clank_, and the cab opened. "Everyone climb!" Derek shouted as he scurried up the ladder. "Hurry!" Stiles was furious. Derek had left them with seconds to escape their attackers. There was no time to dwell on it now though, they had to move. He scrambled up the ladder, the confines of the cage making it difficult to go through the first eight feet. He felt trapped, claustrophobic. It didn't help when Madison followed so closely behind him. He could forgive it though; Nan was still on the ground, the walkers so close to her that she could actually be grabbed. Madison shoved herself beside Stiles, cramping them in the cage but giving Nan enough room to climb.

"Move it Nan!" she shouted. "They're right behind you!" "I'm coming!" she cried. "Madison, help!" "Don't worry Nan," Stiles added, "You're going to make it, ok?" He didn't know if he believed himself though. They were literally at her feet, their fingers sliding off of her shoes. Jagged nails gripped the laces and broke off, but their palms were terrifyingly close to her. "You're lying!" she replied. "You don't think I'm going to make it!" "Nan you need to focus," Madison urged, "We're almost through the cage, see? Inside you're safe, they can't reach you!" Nan looked up. Her eyes were in an ocean, but she smiled. In truth, Madison wasn't sure if Nan would make it, but she knew enough to make herself believe in what she said. It would be enough to keep her going, to keep her focused. The walkers were crowding themselves at the bottom of the stairs. They couldn't get through.

_They_ couldn't get through. In this new world, which has not yet existed for very long, there are a number of accepted constants. Of the many, the most important was that the walkers were stupid enough for even the most desperate of situations to become a survivable probability. When they herded, nothing else came near them. The savage people and raiders who populate the world turn tail and run, and even though you yourself may still be in mortal danger, it was easy to focus on one enemy. The alligators changed the game. In the midst of the commotion of the herd, they had slipped through. Madison saw it first, a huge individual with one blinded eye. At the base of the stairs it launched itself at Nan.

She didn't scream when its jaws latched onto her legs. Her eyes grew wide, her skin pale. Her expression sent a knife through Madison's heart. It said, "You lied to me," it pleaded, "Please, help me," and it asked, "Why?"

As it pulled her down her lips parted, a blood-curdling scream spewing forth. "No!" Madison cried. "No, Nan! No!" She started to climb down, but Stiles grabbed her arm. "Madison, don't!" Already Nan had been dragged outside the stairs, the alligator tearing through her legs while the walkers went for the remainder of her. "We can't help her." "No, Nan, no! Nan!" Stiles almost lost his grip trying to stop Madison. She was frantic, tears rolling down her face and her hands stretching out in a vain effort to save her. "Stiles let me go!" She was so frantic, wild emotions taking control of her. "Please, just let me go!" "I can't Madison." His own voice cracked, his vision blurring from tears. "She's, she gone."

There was no screaming anymore, only their combined, heavy sobbing.

_I couldn't protect them . . . _


	15. Chapter 15

Misty spat the tape from her mouth, and Danny's fingers were finally freed. "I did it!" she proudly exclaimed. "I did it!" "Don't let them hear you," Danny said with a smile, "I don't want all of that work to go to waste." Weakly, Danny picked up the razor blade and started on Misty's hands. "So," he muttered, "How exactly will you heal me? Is it just a, wave your hands and make me better sort of thing?" "Somewhat." she replied. "I also have some special mud in my boot to help." "That _really_ doesn't sound sanitary." "And again, we don't have many choices. It was good enough to turn me from a piece of charcoal back into a person."

As he started to cut at her bindings, Danny decided to believe her. After all, there really want much of a reason not to. Furthermore, wouldn't it be easier to stop doubting? It's a lot more effort to maintain the thought that something is wrong than to simply accept it. The way she talked, it was genuine. She must be telling the truth. No more doubt, only full acceptance. "I trust you." he said aloud. "I trust you Misty. I didn't know powers like what you have exist. It was, hard, to accept what you're saying. But I want it to be true, so I believe it. I won't question you anymore." She smiled, a wide smile that lit her face up. "Thank you Danny. You'll see the proof soon enough."

"You bastard!" Derek allowed Madison to slam her fists against him. Even he needed her to calm down, and if this is what she needed, so be it. "Why didn't you break the goddamn lock any faster? Nan's dead because of you!" "I did all that I could," he insisted, "But if it'll make you feel better, I'm sorry." "Sorry isn't going to bring her back. She was terrified and I couldn't help her!" She hit his chest once more before she fell to her knees, and then onto her back. "That was the worst way someone could die. An alligator eating your legs, while a bunch of rotten fingers and teeth tear through you."

Stiles was working to collect himself. He knew why he lost his composure. Nan's death brought back painful memories of the early days of the infection, when friends and family were devoured before their very eyes. It hurt like no other feeling of loss could, but there was never anything they could do. They hadn't lost anyone this, dramatically, in months. It wasn't a feeling he missed, and one he wished wouldn't plague him again. Madison did have to pull it together though. It would've been easy to act tough and tell her to suck it up. But this wasn't the time. She would be getting more emotional soon enough, and right now? It was a tricky situation.

"Madison," he began, "We can't lose it, not now. We've all lost someone close to us. My mom died way before all of this happened, and my dad was all I had left. Then, they took him from me. But I wasn't alone. I had my friends. Then they started to die too. It never gets easy. But we still have people here with us. We don't forget the ones who die, we move forward to live for them." He had to stop himself before he dove into a full blown motivational speech. It seemed to have _some_ effect on her. She had sat up, and she didn't appear hysterical anymore.

"I'm a bitch." Madison began. "I know it, and I'm not sorry for it. For so long I didn't care about anyone. I was selfish, but I knew it. This world didn't want that attitude to change. But, Nan started to get to me. I guess it took the end of the world for me to see things in a different light. I could never admit it, but I really liked her. She was like a little sister to me. I wanted to be protective of her, but I couldn't. I always felt like it'd be too much. I don't even know what I mean by that. She looked me in the eyes when that gator bit her. I couldn't give her what she wanted, what she needed."

She sniffled and wiped the tears from her face. "The only positive I can pull from this is that she won't become one of them." Her face twisted with pain. "There isn't going to be anything left." She quickly rose to her feet. "I'll never forget this." Fire in her eyes, she directed herself at Derek. "At least for the time being, this is _your_ fault, and I'm not going to hear anything more about that." She turned her back to him; she was only facing Stiles. "We're going to find the people whose fault it is that it's Derek's fault that Nan died." A bit of a mental tongue twister, but her intent was clear. Admittedly, Stiles was upset with Derek. He couldn't believe that he would want them dead, but how did he fumble so seriously? He was overthinking things, or, at least he hoped he was. He certainly picked an interesting man to become infatuated with. There was some sort of mutuality in it, sexually at worst though that would be good enough for him, which he wanted to delve into. Yet with a fresh death, his flip flop personality, _and_ the overall stress of this situation, there was no time. He was disappointed, but knew that there would have to be a time for them. There had to be.

"Move it!" They turned and saw, about six rooftops away from them, Lydia and Scott almost tossing Allison out of a door while they slammed it shut, a tremendous uproar of groans and scratching following them. "Help us!" Lydia shouted. Madison forced herself to join Derek and Stiles as they rushed to their aid, tearing other roofs up to block the walkers. After a minute of hard work, they were confident that it would hold long enough for them to escape.

Now that things had settled, the group collectively came to Allison's side. "You still have your bags," Scott began, "Right Stiles? Because, you're the ones who have the heavyweight medical supplies." "Yeah," Stiles replied, "Here you go." Scott immediately began digging through the bag, handing painkillers, bandages, needles, and more to Lydia, who applied them to Allison the best she could. It was an operation really, with sewing needles and thread serving as her makeshift stitches. They were so caught up in trying to save her that they didn't even notice.

"Hold on," Allison said with clenched teeth, "Where is she?" "Who?" Lydia asked. Then, she noticed too. "Wait, where's Nan?" Silence. Dead, silence. _Dead_. It didn't need to be said. Lydia and Allison laid their eyes on Madison. Her eyes were red and bloodshot, her face still wet from her hysteria. "Oh my god," said Allison, "I'm so sorry Madison." "It wasn't your fault," she said as she held back another wave of tears, "It, it-" She looked at Stiles. He begged her not to. She wanted to. She wanted to direct her emotions at something, someone, she could hold responsible. She _needed_ to.

"It wasn't anyone's fault. There was a lock on the ladder, and Derek broke it. But, they were following too closely. We didn't all make it up." Stiles felt guilty. She strangled her emotions, bottled them up and threw them away. She deserved to be upset. But, no, she didn't. They didn't have time for this. "We won't let her death be in vain." Allison assured her. "We know too well what it's like to lose people we love. We won't." "To be brutally honest," Madison replied, "That doesn't really mean shit. She died a painful and horrible death. But, I do appreciate your kindness. I can't just get over something like this, not anymore. But, I want us to accomplish something. All of this will have to have been worth something."

"Spalding I can't stand this dreadful wait, I should never have let them leave!" Myrtle was on the verge of hysteria. In truth, nowhere near enough time had passed for genuine concern to find justification. Spalding, in his mute state, continued about his duties. He poured her some tea, but her fingers never came close to the cup. The two briefly made eye contact. "I know," she continued, "Our beloved Cordelia and Queenie can't simply be left alone out there. But it is such a terrible world, and Nan can be so fragile." Her stomach knotted at the thought of Nan being hurt, or worse. The "worse" of this world was so horrendous, so tragic. A moment of guilt afflicted her for not thinking about Madison. "I know," she said in "reply" to Spalding, "You're right, worrying won't help."

She grabbed her cup and strode to the windows. She parted the curtains with her free hand and gazed out on the shuffling corpses. "Oh they're so restless today." Her thoughts suddenly shifted. "I know what I'll do!" she proudly declared. "Spalding, fetch my stash." The mute attendant departed, returning after a short minute of searching. He placed the burlap sack on the countertop, and Myrtle's hands quickly emptied its contents before them. "Yes," she said, "There should be enough here. Oh thank the heavens for the small scrap of electricity we've managed to keep. Spalding, I'll make the two of us a nice key lime pie. And then when the girls return I'll make another one for them. Oh, there is never too much pie."

Tears rolled down her cheeks. She had removed the tooth from her arm, and tied a tourniquet around it to slow the bleeding. This was all surface stuff. She could feel her veins carrying the bite's poison through her body. It wouldn't be much longer. "Auntie Myrtle?" Where was she? She needed her. "Please, I'm scared. I'm so scared and I don't know what to do!" She wanted comfort. Anything, anything! The warm touch of another person would be enough to give her peace. All she had was the corpse, the man she had to kill so that her own death might be delayed. "I'm so worthless," she mumbled, "But I felt like I had a chance when you were around." She smiled. "You were so, outlandish. But there was some strength to you, especially after the world ended." Her mind wandered back many years, to the day Fiona left her on the steps of the school. The world she knew had ended, and her own mother brought it on. Myrtle was a light in the darkness.

"It's cold." Her skin felt clammy. "I don't like it. Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me? I'm completely losing it." Her mind seemed to be under more distress than her body. It must've been some subconscious reaction to this inevitability of death. There was no way she could keep her composure. "Am I really going to die like this, without a shred of dignity? I don't want it that way." _Worthless._ Her mother's voice resonated in her head. She used to try to keep track of how many times she would use that word. She lost count sometime after she was well into the triple digits. "Then again," she continued, "What _was_ my life? This should've been so obvious to me." The tears stopped rolling. Maybe this would be what's best for her. At least she could accept it now, finally and completely. She was, in every sense, worthless. And soon, she would be nothing. Nothing, but another shuffling corpse.

It became an annoying game almost instantly. They walked along the edge of the roof, and the gators took their different paths of pursuit, the walkers clinging to them like toddlers. "Dammit." said Stiles. "The gators are like cattle drivers. They lead the herd wherever they go." "I don't think we can just make a break for it." said Lydia. "Allison, you wouldn't even be able to keep up if we tried." "I definitely wouldn't make it," she began, "This is really hurting. But it's got to get worse before it gets better, right?" "Your arm," Scott replied, "Of our situation?" "Both." "Well regardless of what we'd want to do," said Lydia, "We're too bloody. We have to wait." "We can't do that." said Stiles. "Every second we waste is another chance for them to kill our friends."

"They won't kill them." Derek declared. "Not yet at least." Tensions were running high. Madison shot a look that could've strangled one's soul. "How do you figure?" Scott asked. "You're the one who said time is our enemy." "I know, and it still is. But, we can't take such huge risks that we won't be able to fight when it really matters." The worst part of it all was that he was right, or he spoke like he was. Stiles didn't want to feel this way about him, but he couldn't shake it. He could, however, at least find credibility in the thought that this attraction was purely sexual. It would make much more sense. A hand's a hand, but him? Now, why was his mind going _there_ right now? If Nan's body was still in one piece, it wouldn't even be cold yet. "I agree." he finally said. "Allison, you need to rest. We don't want to antagonize anything. And, Madison, I think we should mourn." "I guess," she replied, "But it isn't gonna bring her back."

Her eyes suddenly grew wide. "I think I have a plan." Her entire attitude changed. "Yeah?" Stiles asked. "When we change your bandages," Madison continued, "Let's get as much blood on them as possible and ball them up. Then, when night comes, we can throw the blood balls all over the place, and it might be enough to confuse the gators." "Sounds reasonable." said Allison. "Might as well find some way to make this injury less of a burden." "I don't like the idea of waiting around for so long," said Scott, "But hey, what other choice do we have?" "Not much unfortunately," Madison replied, "But any choice is better than no choice. Now I don't want you to go into shock, but Allison, let's make sure those holes aren't _completely _plugged up."

It looked like shit. "It stinks." said Danny. "Well it's got a little more boot sweat than I would normally use." Misty joked. "But don't go blogging about the secret recipe, but there may or may not be alligator shit." She slathered the mud on Danny's cut, gently rubbing it in. "Is it supposed to feel like this?" he asked. "Like what?" "It feels, oddly soothing. It isn't something I know how to describe." This was good. No, this was perfect. "That means it's already working," she began, "That you're going to get out of here with me. And we'll see Stiles and the others."

She mumbled incantations to herself, accelerating his healing along and almost instantly bringing some color back to his face. "You are magical," he said, "Aren't you?" "You tell me. Your color's coming back to your face." Misty could tell that he was feeling himself getting better. His posture grew stronger, and his sense of despair evaporated. "Oh my god, this is incredible." "Don't thank me." she quickly said. "You don't have to." "But you saved me." "You did just as much to save us as I did. If you hadn't cut through the tape, we would've both died." "But you found the razor."

"We're a team now." she began. "We'll look after each other, and get back to our friends. People don't do that good on their own. We work together, and that's how we climb out of this. Sometimes it's a slow crawl, sometimes we get held back. But as long as there's someone else there, we can make it." "I wish we could've met under better circumstances. I don't know if we'll live long enough to-" "Don't." she interjected. "It'll all be fine. We're not going to die like this."

The door swung open, and a deafening gunshot rang out. Danny went limp in an instant, the life Misty had so carefully been pumping into him being ripped away. She screamed in horror, a shriek horrible enough to freeze the blood in the devil's veins. A man slammed the butt of some rifle into her, and she was knocked back with barely an ounce of consciousness left. "We're leaving." Mr. Argent announced. "Pack her and the firestarter up." Misty couldn't resist, and she slipped away from the world into her brutal sleep as her assailant dragged her away. "Mr. Argent," another one began, "Could you please give some kind of reason?" "I already told you. I think we can use their friends to find more witches hiding in the city." "We already know that the academy burned down, where else could they be?" "I don't know! But this one wasn't with the school either." The curious one realized the others had left, sensing that Mr. Argent was not in a mood for this line of questioning. "I'll get her onto the truck." He quickly left the room.

Alone with the corpse, he withdrew the images from his pocket. With that scout dead, he was the only one who knew what they found. There she was, amongst all the others he had seen her hanging out with during and after school. Alive and well, if a little weathered by the world, his daughter was walking amongst his enemies. "Baby. What are you doing with these people? She can't possibly know." He found himself wondering what exactly he meant by that. Maybe she did know that there was something, supernatural, with their new acquaintances. But she _could not_ know what he was. Then again, why not? He would've told her one day. In fact, he planned on doing so on that tomorrow almost a year ago. But, then the first broadcast went out. New Orleans started to panic, and she needed him to keep her grounded. "Shit. What'll she think of all of this? I've gotta ease her into it. She'll have to understand. I don't want to have to kill her."

A hazy cloud suddenly enshrouded his head, and it felt like something punched his temples. It felt like a pair of iron fists slammed into his face, and his mind went blank in an instant. "But you will." He turned around, against his will, to see someone he only heard of in stories. Marie, the Voodoo Queen, stood before him as his new master. "Now honey," she continued, "I don't want you to stop what you're doing, but they're _all_ gonna die. Every witch bitch and each of their little friends." She felt him strain, and his body trembled. "Don't fight it. I could split your head like a melon." She couldn't maintain this grip forever. If she wanted a permanent link, she'd have to let Derek go. All she needed was a minute of obedience, enough time to plant the intention in his mind. After that, he would see her line of thinking as his own. The trembling ceased after a few seconds. Marie felt a wave of relief sweep over her as his mind and body kneeled. His lips parted. "Yes ma'am."


End file.
